of  ti)e 

C[lnit)et0itp  of  H^ottb  Carolina 


Collection  of  0ott^  Catoliniana 

(OntiotDeD  bp 

5io5n  feptunt  !^iU 

of  t|)e  Class  of  1889 

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This  book  must  not 
be  taken  from  the 
Library  building. 


Form  No.  471 


THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

A  TALE  OF  THE  NORTH 
CAROLINA  MOUNTAINS 


BY 
DAVID    REED    MILLER 


BOSTON 
SHERMAN,    FRENCH    &  COMPANY 

1911 


Copyright,  1911 
Sherman,  French  &=  Company 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  More  or  Less  Relevant 1 

II  A  Cluster  of  Azaleas 7 

III  The  Call  of  the  Conch  Shell   ...  16 

IV  Behind  the  Cataract 23 

V  Whoa,   Bucephalus 28 

VI  Over  the  Range 40 

VU  Spears  and  Pruning  Hooks       ....  51 

VIII  On  the  Altar  of  Patriotism   ....  58 

IX  The  Second  State 67 

X  An    Apparition 76 

XI  Between  Two  Flags 86 

XII  Tragedy  of  the  Twin   Oaks     ....  96 

XIII  O,  THE  Pity  of  It! 101 

XIV  Desolation 106 

XV  The   Old  Well-Sweep 110 

XVI  A  Fire  in  Eden 122 

XVII  As  One  Whom  His  Mother  Comforteth  130 

XVIII  The  Stybright  School  of  Philosophy    .  138 

XIX  The  Red  Swan's  Neck 145 

XX  The  Apple  Woman 153 

XXI  A  Mountain  Mine 164 

XXII  The  Caverns 176 

XXIII  Miss  Larue 188 

XXIV  At  the    Foot   of  the   Rainbow    .      .      .  196 
XXV  The    Trail   of   the    Serpent    ....  210 

XXVI  A  Rift  in  the  Clouds 218 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVII     The   Diverted  Jouhxey 233 

XXVIII  Ahithophel  Falls  Shoiot  on  His  Coun- 
sel      240 

XXIX    Snags  Groucher  Redivivus 245 

XXX     Gyp  Seeks  an  Old  Friend 257 

XXXI     Between    the    Rivers 266 

XXXII     Solving  the  Riddle 274 

XXXIII  De    Chrysalis   Done    Broke      ....  280 

XXXIV  Roses  and  Palms 288 

XXXV     The  Old  Spanish  Fort 296 

XXXVI     The  Red  Light 303 

XXXVII  The   Old   Parson   Goes  a   Fishing      .      .  313 

XXXVIII     On  the  Sea  Wall 323 


THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 


CHAPTER  I 
MORE  OR  LESS  RELEVANT 

"Th'  boy'd  better  been  t'  home  savin'  his 
mammy  all  this  trouble  o'  huntin'  him,"  growled 
Snags  Groucher,  an  aboriginal  crone  whose  one 
protruding  tooth  was  her  only  claim  to  immor- 
tality. 

"Wat  ye  talkin'  about?"  inquired  the  Rev. 
William  Watchcob,  a  grey-haired  mountaineer 
preacher,  who  had  finished  his  "preachin',"  and 
stood  talking  to  a  group  of  parishioners  at  the 
church  door.  He  was  somewhat  out  of  sorts, 
notwithstanding  his  late  lurid  dissertation  on 
original  sin.  The  rain  falling  in  gentle  rhythm 
without  held  the  few  jarring  members  within 
doors. 

"I  be  talkin'  erbout  Gyp,  that  'bominable  wee 
Stybright  cub  who's  alius  givin'  his  daddy  and 
mammy  trouble,"  Snags  replied  with  unnecessary 
glow  in  her  sharp,  resolute  eyes. 

"It  hain't  Gyp,  it's  his  daddy  that's  a  doin'  it 
all,"  snapped  Judy  Gans,  "gettin'  drunk  an' 
chasin'  his  wife  an'  boy  out'n  th'  house !  That's 
th'  ole  man :  I  know  him !" 

"Ef  th'  ole  man  do  get  drunk  an'  beller  aroun' 
th'   house,   it's   his   own   house,  hain't   it?     Ef   a 


2  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

man  can't  do  as  he  pleases  t'  home,  what's  th'  use, 
by  goll!" 

The  philosophy  came  from  Snags. 

"I'd  jes  like  t'  see  a  man  do  as  he  pleases 
about  my  house !"  and  Judy  Gans  pitched  her  nose 
a  few  inches  into  the  air.  "I'd  like  t'  see  him 
comin'  home  drunk,  a  howlin'  an'  a  swearin'  like 
ole  Guy  Stybright !"  and  her  mouth  snapped  shut 
with  an  emphasis  that  was  ominous. 

"Considerin'  that  yer  an  ole  maid  th'  pint's  not 
well  put,"  and  Snags  grinned  sarcastically 
across  toward  Terbaccy  Tom. 

"Same  t'  you,  Snags !"  retorted  Judy ;  "ye'r 
not  only  a  glowerin'  ole  maid  yersel ;  but  no  man 
was  ever  fool  enough  t'  ast  ye!" 

"An'  Gyp  ran  away,  did  he,  'cause  his  daddy 
came  home  drunk,"  interposed  the  preacher,  de- 
siring to  allay  the  rising  hostilities  between  the 
lambs  of  his  flock. 

"I'm  thinkin'  he  didn't  run  fur;  jes  hiked  off 
into  the  mountings  an'  hid,  an'  has  his  mammy 
lookin'  atter  him  an'  worrit  t'  death  fear  o'  him 
bein'  lost  fer  good,"  was  Judy's  reply  to  the  min- 
ister. 

"He's  an  annoyin'  cuss,  anyway,"  interpolated 
Terbaccy  Tom,  who  had  been  outwitted  on  sev- 
eral occasions  by  the  wide-awake  little  fellow. 
"Th'  child  hain't  afeared  o'  his  daddy  's  much  as 
he  likes  t'  give  trouble." 

"Who  wouldn't  run  from  a  drunken  daddy.? 
Th'  devil  hain't  yit  invented  a  wuss  critter  than 


MORE  OR  LESS  RELEVANT  3 

a  drunk  man.  He's  hell's  best  crap,  's  fur  as  my 
obserwation  goes,"  and  the  nose  of  Judy  Gans 
took  another  ominous  tilt. 

"Well,  all  I  haster  say  is,  cf  ole  Stybright 
wantster  git  drunk  'e  can  git  as  drunk  as  'e's 
a  mindter,  fer  all  me ;  an'  th'  drunker  the  bet- 
ter," and  Snags  ducked  her  head  toward  Judy 
with  an  emphasis  which  had  little  effect  on  that 
worthy. 

"Th'  fuller  th'  funnier,"  laughed  Sykes  Snick- 
erby. 

"The  drunker  'e  gits  th'  sooner  weuns'll  git 
rid  of  him.  He's  a  blight  on  th'  community,  like 
a  bit  of  carrion  by  the  roadside,"  Judy  ventured 
with  a  humanitarian  grip  on  the  situation. 

"  'E's  mighty  poor  goods  t'  keep  in  stock,  an' 
that's  true  for  ye  all,"  echoed  the  preacher. 
"Nobody  hain't  a  realizin'  nothin'  off'n  him,  an' 
'e  hain't  no  blessin'  t'  nobody.  But  there's  lots 
o'  space  fer  him  t'  crawl  up  an'  git  good.  It's 
a  long  way  up  to  th'  first  limb,  an'  ye  better  be 
tryin'  t'  gin  him  a  lift  'stead  o'  pullin'  him  down." 

Judy  Gans  gave  her  little  round  nose  another 
wink :  "Wen  'e  comes  into  my  house  a  smellin' 
like  a  corpse,  woe  t'  him,  I  say ;  woe  t'  him !" 

"An'  what  'u'd  you  do?"  Snags  ventured. 

"It's  a  mighty  poor  fireplace  what  can't  keep  a 
kittle  bilin'." 

"D'  ye  mean  ye'd  scald  th'  old  soak?" 

"I'd  do   it,  or  die  a   tryin'." 

"Isn't  a  man's  mouth  his  own,  an'  his  thrapple. 


4  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

too?  an'  ef  he  wants  ter  put  pisen  into  it,  hain't 
he  a  right  to?  An'  I'm  th'  gal  t'  gin  him  a  help 
at  it,"  and  Snags  became  quite  polemic  in  her 
attitude,  as  she  snapped  her  red  eyes  and  blinked 
toward   the   preacher. 

"Snags,  ye'd  better  be  still.  Th'  devil  gits  all 
the  fool  fellers  what  commit  suicide  whether  by 
hangin',  drownin'  or  th'  drink  route.  An'  there 
be  people  what  had  better  be  still  about  their 
betters,  'stead  o'  givin'  him  a  boost  downward 
by  cncouragin'  him,"  replied  the  sky  pilot  insin- 
uatingly. 

There  was  a  titter  in  the  group,  and  Snags' 
eye  blazed  on  the  preacher :  "Ye  talk  lak  a  saint ; 
but  yer  hain't  no  more  piety  than  a  duck,"  and 
she  whisked  across  the  aisle,  sat  down  on  a  bench 
and  glowered  on  her  spiritual  adviser. 

"I  know  Gyp  didn't  run  off,  'cept  he  had  to," 
the  preacher  continued,  oblivious  of  the  gloom 
that  settled  over  the  face  of  his  irascible  pa- 
rishioner. "He's  a  bright  boy ;  but  he  can't 
stand  the  fury  of  his  drunken  daddy.  He's  a  soul 
in  him  that's  wuth  a  lookin'  atter ;  a  soul  what'll 
live  longer'n  these  here  mountings  an'  outshine 
th'  sun.  He  looks  a  langwidge  out'n  them  eyes 
o'  his'n  what's  wuth  a  listenin'  to.  That  boy's 
gwinter  live  when  the  sun  has  no  more  fire  in  it 
than  a  wet  sponge." 

"Well,  an'  won't  th'  hull  batch  o'  us  do  th' 
same,  even  oP  snappy  critters  like  Judy  Gans 
an'  fool  preachers  who  think  they'r  smart?"  The 
voice    of    Snags    sounded    like    the    tearing    of    a 


MORE  OR  LESS  RELEVANT  5 

piece  of  sheeting  as  she  delivered  herself  of  these 
felicitous   observations. 

"Th'  pahson's  cogs  is  gettin  wobbly,"  ventured 
Jim  Habor,  grinning  irreverently,  and  coming  to 
the  rescue  of  Snags. 

"Needs  a  hunk  o'  pone.  Give  him  a  slab  f'm 
yer  bag,  Snags,"  haw-hawed  Terbaccy  Tom, 
whose  dislike  for  the  preacher  was  only  exceeded 
by  his  love  for  whiskey. 

"Er  a  chaw  o'  terbaccy,"  sarcastically  drawled 
the  Groucher  woman,  as  she  deposited  a  wad  from 
her  own  mouth  on  the  church  floor. 

"Er  a  pinch  o'  th'  tickler,"  added  Jay  Grimp, 
as  he  took  a  snuff-box  from  his  pocket,  helped 
himself  and  returned  it  to  its  place. 

"Or  a  sip  o'  mounting  dew,"  tittered  Jim  Ha- 
bor, the  worst  reprobate  in  the  neighborhood. 

"Rail  away,  ye  heathen,"  retorted  the  preacher, 
as  he  cocked  his  eye  toward  Habor,  Grimp  and 
Terbaccy  Tom.  "When  th'  old  Red  Man  with  th' 
horns  and  barbed  tail  comes  t'  North  Car'liny, 
ye'll  git  what's  comin'  to  ye.  Meantime  ye'd  bet- 
ter be  out  helpin  Seloe  Stybright  find  her  lost 
boy." 

"She'll  git  no  help  f'm  me,"  jerked  Snags 
Groucher,  as  she  twisted  herself  off  the  bench 
and  went  out  of  the  building. 

"An'  she'll  git  none  f'm  me,"  echoed  Grimp. 

"Nothin'  doin'  here!"   snuffed  Terbaccy  Tom. 

"What's  a  hurtin'  you  heathen  that  ye  can't 
help  a  poor  woman  in  trouble?"  Judy  Gans  in- 
quired. 


6  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"That's  w'at  I'd  like  ter  know,"  interposed 
Sykes  Snickerby,  "I'd  help  a  nigger  out'n  a  hog 
waller,  ef  he  couldn't  get  out  hisself,"  and  he 
beamed  on  Judy  as  if  an  aureole  were  already  on 
his  brow. 

"D'ye  wanter  know  why  I'm  doin'  nothin?" 
Tom  replied,  "I'll  tell  yer.  Th'  hull  batch  o' 
them  Stybrights  is  Union.  I'm  C'nfed'rate  an' 
agin  that  gang." 

"Well,  Tom,  if  I'd  a  neighbor  in  trouble  I'd 
help  her  out,  by  goll,  no  matter  what  flag  she  was 
a  marchin'  under." 

"Give  us  yer  claw  on  that,"  said  Snickerby,  as 
he  jumped  forward  and  clutched  the  hand  of  his 
friend  Judy. 

"An'  I  say  so,  too,"  added  the  minister; 
"that's  a  mighty  good  gospill,  Judy.  Humanity's 
bigger'n   a  flag." 

But  Terbaccy  Tom  was  not  there  to  benefit  by 
the  observation.  He  and  Jim  Habor  had  fol- 
lowed Snags  into  the  woods ;  and  Grimp  soon 
went  out  to  keep  them  company. 

"Rain's  over,  Judy ;  come  away,  you  and  Snick- 
erby. We'll  help  th'  woman.  But  ye  needn't  t' 
worry  about  Gyp ;"  said  the  Rev.  William  Watch- 
cob,  "he's  hid  somewhar.  He'll  be  back  t'  th' 
house  soon  as  th'  old  man  leaves.  That's  Gyp's 
way.  He  dreads  that  daddy  o'  his'n,  but  he 
loves  his  mammy,  an'  hain't  a  runnin'  away  f'm 
her.  I^Iaybe  he's  t'  home  now.  We'll  go  see; 
come  along." 


CHAPTER  II 
A  CLUSTER  OF  AZALEAS 

A  CLUMSY  cart,  drawn  by  a  slow,  swaggering 
ox,  jolted  over  the  gravelly  road  that  wound 
over  the  North  Carolina  mountains.  The  lau- 
rels on  the  hillsides  looked  like  drifts  of  snow. 
The  numberless  shades  of  green  announced  that 
the  woodlands  were  awake  from  their  wintry  re- 
pose. Under  the  low-branched  pines  the  grey  of 
a  little  stream  flashed  in  pleasant  fellowship  with 
the  leafy  canopy  that  roofed  it  over.  But 
neither  the  stolid  ox  nor  the  drowsy  driver  gave 
the  least  heed  to  a  small  sprite  of  humanity,  the 
lost  Gyp,  who  stood  timorously  by  the  side  of 
the  rivulet  with  his  eyes  on  the  drunken  driver. 
In  his  hand  he  held  a  cluster  of  flaming  azaleas 
so  large  that  he  was  half  hidden  by  their  glowing 
splendors.  The  heavy  cart  bumped  slowly  past 
and  went  on  its  way. 

The  lad  was  bare-footed  and  bare-headed.  His 
trousers  were  held  in  place  by  pieces  of  twine, 
while  his  thin,  brown  shirt  was  open  at  the  throat 
and  swung  loose,  revealing  a  breast  tanned  al- 
most the  color  of  the  earth  beneath  his  feet.  His 
face  was  a  sweet,  pathetic  one,  such  as  any  artist 
would  love   to   paint,   yet   one   to   which   childish 

7 


8  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

sorrow  had  paid  many  an  unwelcome  visit.  His 
dark  eyes  were  lustrous  and  beautiful,  his  cheeks 
ruddy  and  his  teeth  like  flakes  of  chrysolite. 
There  he  stood  like  a  frightened  fawn,  screened 
by  the  azaleas,  gazing  with  those  sweet,  tender 
eyes  of  his  on  his  drunken  father  as  he  drove 
around  the  bend  of  the  road  and  disappeared. 

The  little  fellow  so  feared  his  father  that  he 
would  hide  behind  the  rocks  and  trees  or  under 
the  rhododendrons  or  in  the  thickets  of  elders 
when  his  unnatural  parent  came  brawling 
home  from  his  revels  in  the  mountains.  There  he 
would  wait  and  watch  until  his  father  left  the 
house,  or  until  his  mother  came  in  search  of  him, 
when  he  would  hide  his  face  in  her  faded  skirts 
and  whine : 

"Maw,  why  be  he  so  bad  to  weuns?" 

And  the  mother,  taking  her  frightened  child 
in  her  arms,  would  point  far  up  the  mountain 
to  a  little  stream  that  fell  over  the  rocks  and 
say: 

"See  th'  stream?" 

"Yes,  maw." 

"Up  there,  mah  child,  is  th'  devil  o'  th'  still; 
an'  th'  devil  o'  th'  still  be  in  him." 

So  it  came  about  that  to  the  mind  of  little 
Gyp  there  was  something  awful  associated  with 
those  heights.  He  knew  not  the  meaning  of  the 
word  "still."  It  might  be  some  poisonous  vine, 
some  ferocious  wild  beast,  or  a  terrible  giant  who 
ruled  the  solitudes ;  but  whatever  it  was,  he  knew 


A  CLUSTER  OF  AZALEAS  9 

that  it  made  his  father  ugly  and  cruel.  And 
when  on  this  bright  i\Iay  morning  he  burst  into 
the  house  and  fell  cursing  on  the  floor,  the  lad 
fled  like  a  frightened  fawn  to  the  mountains. 
The  day  slowly  passed,  and  as  he  came  not  to  his 
home  when  the  evening  shadows  fell,  the  mother 
could  scarcely  contain  herself  in  her  distress. 

"Won't  mah  boy  nuvver  come  back  t'  me.'' 
He's  mah  life,  mah  heav'n.  O  Gyp !"  and  she 
wrung  her  hands  in  her  grief  as  she  looked  un- 
successfully out  through  the  door  upon  the 
crooked  mountain  paths.  The  night  came  on  and 
still  he  did  not  return,  and  with  the  darkness  came 
a  deeper  gloom  in  her  soul.  She  pressed  her 
hands  to  her  bosom  and  sobbed: 

"Mah  heart,  mah  heart !  O  God  hain't  mah 
wee  boy  nuvver  comin'  back  t'  me?"  She  held 
her  throbbing  breast  and  listened  for  his  foot- 
steps ;  but  no  sound  came  out  of  the  night.  She 
went  to  the  door  and  gazed  into  the  mighty  si- 
lences, but  the  darkness  had  no  answer.  She 
ran  to  her  husband,  who  had  long  since  returned 
with  his  ox-cart,  and  lay  in  a  drunken  slumber. 
But  all  she  could  get  from  him  was  a  grunt  of 
unconsciousness.  He  would  not  be  aroused.  She 
turned  away  with  an  aching  heart,  took  down  the 
lantern  from  the  rafter,  and,  touching  its  candle 
with  a  lighted  splinter,  drew  her  shawl  about  her 
and  passed  into  the  all-pervasive  pathos  of  the 


night. 


The  dallying  winds  played  with  the   fringe  of 


10  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

her  tattered  shawl  and  fanned  the  bulb  of  her 
lantern  as  she  took  the  trail  which  she  knew  her 
boy  had  often  taken.  Deep  in  a  cool  ravine, 
where,  in  the  full  blaze  of  noon,  scarcely  a  ray 
of  sunshine  penetrated.  Gyp  had  made  for  him- 
self a  miniature  farm  and  playhouse  with  make- 
believe  fields  and  barns.  Twigs,  laid  on  the 
ground,  served  for  fences,  and  brown  and  white 
pebbles  were  herds  of  cattle.  Acorns  were  stacks 
of  hay,  and  the  mountain  stream  was  to  him  a 
great  flowing  river  where  fairies  played  and  boats 
were  wrecked  and  armies  drowned.  Here  the  boy 
would  spend  long  hours  dreaming  dreams  which 
older  men  have  dreamed  and  wiser  heads  have 
cherished. 

Would  she  find  him  here,  here  in  this  retreat 
now  so  dark  that  the  night  and  silence  were  op- 
pressive? Her  lantern  threw  spectral  lights 
about  her,  which,  like  wraiths  and  phantoms, 
seemed  to  whisper  in  her  ears :  "We  know,  but 
we  won't  tell !" 

Slowly  her  little  star  moved  up  the  ravine 
twinkling  among  the  trees,  and  as  she  went  she 
peered  into  the  shadows  clucking  the  solitary 
word,  "Gyp !"     But  no  answer  came. 

She  swung  around  a  gnarled  pine,  leaped  down 
over  its  crooked  roots,  and  came  to  the  play- 
ground. She  examined  every  nook  and  corner; 
but  her  boy  was  not  there.  Here  were  the  "man- 
sion," and  the  "barns,"  and  the  "cattle,"  and  the 
noisy    "river,"   but    there   was    not   the    slightest 


A  CLUSTER  OF  AZALEAS  11 

indication  that  he  had  been  there  during  the  day. 
Her  heart  sank  like  lead.  Her  one  hope  had 
been  that  he  had  fallen  asleep  in  this  familiar 
place  and  had  not  awakened  when  the  night  came 
on.  She  called,  still  hoping  that  he  might  be 
somewhere  near: 

"Gyp!     Gyp!" 

But  there  was  no  answer. 

Then  louder,  with  more  of  anguish  in  her  voice : 

"GYP !     G-Y-P !" 

She  set  down  her  lantern  and  listened,  as  one 
might  listen  for  the  last  speech  of  the  dying. 
The  blood  tingled  through  her  veins.  Never  did 
mortal  ear  strive  to  catch  the  mysteries  of  the 
night  with  greater  solicitude.  But  the  darkness 
swallowed  up  her  cry  and  gave  her  nothing  in 
return.  She  lost  all  fear  of  the  night  and  the 
place,  and  putting  her  hands  to  her  mouth  she 
fairly  shrieked  into  the  black  and  remorseless 
night  the  name  of  her  lost  boy. 

The  cry  of  a  startled  bird  and  the  flutter  of 
wings  crashing  through  the  branches  were  the  only 
response. 

One  star  still  glimmered  on  her  horizon.  She 
remembered  that  her  boy  had  sometimes  gone  to 
the  opposite  side  of  the  mountain-valley  where 
the  Falls  of  Okaluna  flung  themselves  from  the 
dark  brow  of  Thunder  Cliffy  and  the  Red  Swan's 
Neck  lay  under  the  stars.  It  was  a  long  distance  ; 
but  it  was  hope ;  it  was  her  only  one ;  and  weak 
and  trembling,  with  the  perils  of  the  night  about 


12  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

her,  she  seized  her  lantern,  clutched  her  shawl 
at  her  throat  and  hastened  down  the  trail.  She 
would  look  into  her  home  as  she  passed.  Maybe 
her  husband  would  go  with  her.  Maybe  the  lad 
had  returned.  She  pushed  open  the  door.  All 
was  silence  and  darkness.  With  her  glimmer  of 
a  candle  she  searched  the  room.  She  went  to 
Gyp's  bed  in  the  corner.  It  was  empty.  Her 
husband  still  lay  in  his  drunken  stupor.  She 
shook  him ;  but  it  was  like  shaking  a  dead  animal. 
Stupid  and  sullen  and  sodden,  he  gave  no  heed. 

"Wak'  up,  wak'  up  mah  man !  Poor  Gyp's 
lost !"  and  she  shook  him  again ;  but  he  only 
rolled,  pulpy  and  unresisting,  like  the  body  of 
a  dog  newly  dead.  She  caught  him  by  the  beard 
and  shook  him,  as  she  held  the  light  before  his 
face,  till  he  began  to  blink  and  grunt. 

"Stybright,  th'  boy's  gone!  'E's  lost!  wak' 
up,  wak'  up !" 

He  opened  his  rheumy  eyes  and  stared  a  mo- 
ment as  one  dazed.  Then  a  frown  darkened  his 
face  as  he  snarled : 

"Watcher    mean,    Seloc,    'sturbin'    mah    rest?" 

"Gyp's  out  on  th'  mountings.  'E's  lost !  O 
Guy,  our  poor  boy's  lost !" 

He  fell  back  on  his  bed  grunting:  "Good 
rid'nce.  'T  's  only  a  trick,  (hie.)  G'way  wum- 
man  an'  lemme  sleep." 

What  use  was  he  in  that  awful  hour,  he  with 
his  swaggering  limbs,  muddled  brain  and  brutal 
tongue.''     With   a    silent    appeal    to    the   pity    of 


A  CLUSTER  OF  AZALEAS  13 

God  she  replenished  her  light  and  faced  the  dark- 
ness once  more. 

In  the  solitudes  a  lantern  glimmered  like  a 
firefly  in  the  mountain  pass.  She  hailed  it  and 
it  came  slowly  toward  her,  and,  as  she  held  her 
own  light  above  her  head,  its  rays  fell  full  upon 
the  faces  of  Snags  Groucher  and  Jim  Habor. 
They^R'ere  her  enemies,  but  sorrow  softens  our 
asperities.  She  looked  into  the  face  of  the 
Groucher  woman : 

"Oh,  Snags,  have  yer  seen  him?" 

"Seen  who?"  she  answered  contemptuously. 

"Mah  boy,  mah  lost  boy,  Gyp !" 

"Naw;  an'  I  don't  care  to.  Mebby  th'  little 
beast  is  burrowin'  under  a  stump,  among  th' 
rocks  like  a  woodchuck," 

Seloe  overlooked  the  insult  and  answered: 
"Oh,  Snags,  I  know  you  don't  like  me  or  him. 
Mebby  it's  our  fault.  But  if  you'n  Habor'll  help 
me  find  him,  I'll  be  yer  frien'  forever." 

"To  th'  divil  with  yer  friendship.  An  hour's 
huntin'  in  th'  dark's  too  big  a  price  t'  pay  fer  it. 
I'd  ruther  block  up  th'  hole  into  which  th'  var- 
mint's crawled,  an'  let  him  rot  there." 

The  desperate  mother  clutched  the  bail  of  her 
lantern  until  her  finger  nails  sunk  into  her  hands. 
The  fire  flashed  from  her  eyes.  She  could  have 
leaped  upon  the  Groucher  woman  and  torn  her 
to  pieces. 

"D'  ye  mock  me?"  she  hissed. 

"Yer  snifflin'  hain't  a  'sturbin'  me.     Yer  brat's 


14  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

better  lost  than  found.  W'y  don't  yer  git  th' 
preacher,  er  old  Judy  or  Sykes  Snickerby  to 
ketch  yer  runaway  colt?"  k 

Seloe  set  down  her  lantern  and  leaped  upon  the 
woman  and  bore  her  to  the  earth,  when  Habor 
interfered,  threw  the  Stybright  woman  to  one  side, 
and  taking  Snags  by  the  arm,  said: 

"Come  away.  Snags,  afore  she  eats  ye:^'  and 
they  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

Seloe  picked  up  her  lantern  and  turned  on  her 
way  wounded  and  weak  because  of  the  compas- 
sionless  hearts  and  insulting  lips.  With  a  soul 
torn  by  their  inhumanity,  by  the  sodden  indiffer- 
ence of  her  husband  and  the  loss  of  her  boy,  she 
pursued  her  way,  heartsore  and  trembling,  into 
the  sympathetic  silence  of  the  great  mountains. 
At  last  she  turned  an  angle  in  the  road  and  the 
spray  of  the  Falls  drifted  into  her  face. 

She  called  her  boy,  but  the  noise  of  the  falling 
water  swallowed  up  her  cry.  A  zigzag  trail  led 
to  the  overhanging  ledge,  beneath  which  was  a 
narrow  shelf  of  rock.  The  perils  of  the  ascent 
were  doubled  by  the  darkness.  The  stones  were 
slippery  with  the  spray ;  but,  nothing  daunted, 
she  toiled  up  the  hazardous  path.  Great  boul- 
ders, fallen  from  the  cliff  in  some  primeval  time, 
frowned  upon  her.  She  passed  a  cave,  dark  and 
terrifying,  and  a  little  beyond  it  a  pile  of  rocks 
was  bunched  like  some  Druidic  altar.  It  was  a 
gruesome  place  even  at  noonday. 

She  returned,   entered  the   cave  and  examined 


;^ 


A  CLUSTER  OF  AZALEAS  15 

every  part  of  it.  She  searched  the  dark,  mysteri- 
ous altar,  climbed  the  rocks,  and  sought  the  re- 
cesses under  the  crags.  She  explored  the  menac- 
v^  shelf  to  its  beetling  brink,  and,  with  her  arm 
thrown  about  a  friendly  tree,  held  her  lantern 
over  the  edge  and  peered  down  into  the  abyss. 
But  there  was  nothing  in  all  those  fierce,  wild 
hei^kts  to  give  the  mother  the  least  whisper  of 
hope.  Nature  had  sealed  both  her  heart  and  her 
lips,  Hope  turned  to  stone  in  the  soul  of  the 
mother,  and  Despair  seemed  her  last  and  only 
friend.  She  threw  her  hands  into  the  air  and 
shrieked : 

"O  mah  God,  mah  God !  Where  is  mah  darlin' 
child  .^" 

A  mist  swam  before  her  eyes,  her  knees  gave 
way,  the  lantern  dropped  from  her  nerveless 
hand,  she  fell  in  a  faint,  and  compassionate  night 
closed  the  vision. 

A  mountaineer,  passing  along  the  road  far 
down  in  the  valley,  heard  a  wild  shriek,  and  look- 
ing up  saw  that  the  mountain  was  on  fire. 


CHAPTER  III  ^ 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  CONCH  SHELL 

The  drunken  Stybright  awoke  to  find  his  home 
deserted.  There  was  no  fire  on  the  hearth. 
There  was  no  fragrance  of  the  morning  meal, 
no  sound  of  foot-fall  on  the  floor.  He  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  gazed 
about  him.  His  wife  had  not  occupied  her  place 
by  his  side.  He  looked  down  into  the  corner 
where  Gyp  was  accustomed  to  sleep,  but  the  bed 
was  undisturbed.     Then  he  called : 

"Seloe !     Gyp !" 

Only  the  sound  of  his  voice  came  back  to  him. 

He  leaped  to  the  floor  and  looked  about  the 
room.  Everything  remained  as  when,  in  drunken 
imbecility,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  bed  the 
previous  evening. 

"Powerful  strange!"  he  ejaculated,  rubbing  his 
eyes. 

He  opened  the  door  and  gazed  into  the  forests 
and  off  upon  the  hills.  There  was  only  the  calm 
of  the  morning  to  greet  his  vision.  Again  he 
called : 

"Seloe !     Gyp !" 

The  mountains  gave  no  answer  and  the  wood- 
lands were  mute. 

16 


CALL  OF  THE   CONCH  SHELL        17 

"Powerful  strange!"  he  repeated,  shaking  his 
shaggy  head. 

He  was  anxious  now  and  fully  awake.  Con- 
fusing thoughts  perplexed  him.  What  did  it 
mean.?  He  went  up  to  the  cliff'  that  hung  above 
his  home,  and,  putting  his  brawny  hands  over  his 
eyes,  peered  inquiringly  up  and  down  the  narrow 
valley  and  off  upon  the  slopes  of  the  hills.  Only 
the  peace  of  nature  was  there.  Then  he  called 
into  the  dreamy  beauty  of  the  morning: 

"Selo-o-o-o-c !     S-e-1-o-o-e !" 

The  hills  seemed  to  mock  him  and  to  fling 
back  into  his  face  the  name  of  the  woman  he  had 
so  cruelly  wronged. 

If  ever  man  was  thoroughly  alarmed  it  was 
Guy  Stybright.  He  feared  that  his  wife  had 
left  him  forever.  Confusion  took  possession  of 
his  brain.  The  very  thought  of  being  aban- 
doned by  wife  and  child  because  of  his  inhumanity 
to  them  filled  him  with  unutterable  dismay.  He 
knew  it  would  be  serving  him  right;  but  the 
thought  of  it  was  anguish  to  him.  He  started 
down  the  mountain  scarcely  knowing  where  he 
was  going  or  what  he  intended  to  do,  yet  whim- 
pering as  he  went : 

"Mah  wumman  an'  mah  wee  lad  gone !" 

Once  more  he  examined  the  house.  Then  he 
walked  all  around  it.  He  went  down  the  path 
to  the  road,  passed  under  the  rhododendrons  and 
searched  the  elder  thickets,  until,  sobbing  like  a 
child,  he  cried: 


18  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"O  Seloe,  come  back,  come  back  mah  wumman, 
come  back  t'  me,  0  Seloe!" 

The  clouds  rolled  from  Thunder  Cliff  where  the 
lantern  fell  and  the  fire  still  burned.  Down  in 
the  valley  and  off  upon  the  hillsides  the  smoke 
from  neighboring  chimneys  told  him  that  the 
morning  meal  was  being  prepared.  At  last  into 
his  feverish  brain  came  the  confused  scene  of  the 
previous  evening.  Gradually  it  dawned  upon  him 
that  Seloe  had  stood  by  his  bedside  with  an  anx- 
ious face  and  told  him  something  about  little 
Gyp ;  but  what  it  was  he  could  not  now  remem- 
ber. He  recalled  her  plea  for  help,  and  how  he 
had  repulsed  her.  It  all  came  back  to  him  like 
some  Satanic  dream.  And  now  his  Seloe  was  lost, 
maybe  dead — dead,  if  not  by  his  own  hand,  by  his 
own  inhumanity ! 

He  ran  to  the  house,  seized  his  hat  and,  with- 
out waiting  for  a  bite  of  food,  fled  to  the  nearest 
neighbor,  where  he  told  his  pathetic  story. 

It  was  not  long  until  runners  were  speeding 
here  and  there  along  the  mountain  paths  arousing 
their  neighbors.  The  whole  community  joined  in 
the  search.  Every  cabin  was  deserted.  Never 
did  the  woman  with  her  candle  search  more  dili- 
gently for  the  lost  coin,  or  the  shepherd  for  the 
wayward  sheep,  than  did  these  sympathetic  high- 
landers  for  their  neighbor  and  her  child. 

It  was  arranged  that  if  the  lost  were  found 
three  prolonged  blasts  on  a  conch  shell  would 
be    blown    from    the   crags    above    the   Stybright 


CALL  OF  THE  CONCH  SHELL   19 

home ;  and  many  a  time  during  the  k)ng  day  were 
the  eyes  of  the  searchers  turned  to  the  cliff,  while 
listening  ears  waited,  yet  waited  in  vain,  for  the 
longed-for  sound.  Again  and  again  the  search- 
ers crossed  each  other's  paths  and  exchanged 
anxious  inquiries. 

Judy  Gans  and  Sykes  Snickerby  were  always 
together,  more  diligent  in  searching  for  each 
other's  affections  than  for  the  lost  mother  and 
her  son.  The  parson  with  his  snow-white  hair 
was  a  conspicuous  figure  in  the  shadowy  defiles. 
Jay  Grimp  and  Terbaccy  Tom  were  plotting  how 
they  could  best  plant  the  Confederate  flag  over 
all  that  community.  Habor  and  the  Groucher 
woman  were  already  suggesting  the  torch  and  the 
stiletto  to  accomplish  that  end. 

"Did  yer  see  anywhere  a  wumman  an'  a  wee 
lad  in  yer  travels.'*"  Stybright  inquired,  despair- 
ingly, of  a  lone  horseman  who  came  down  the 
graveled  road,  little  caring  at  that  hour  whether 
the  Union  stood  or  fell.  The  reins  were  loose  on 
the  neck  of  the  shambling  steed,  while  the  rider 
sat  with  his  face  in  a  book  oblivious  of  anyone's 
presence  until  he  heard  the  pitiful  voice  by  his 
side. 

"Heavens!"  ejaculated  the  startled  man,  as  he 
looked  into  Stybright's  woebegone  countenance. 
"You  frightened  me  most  out  of  my  wits." 

"I've  lost  mah  wumman  an'  mah  boy,"  cried 
Stybright,  the  tears  running  down  his  cheeks. 

"I  saw  nothing  of  them.     Oh,  sir,  did  you  see 


20  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

the  terrible  fire  which  last  night  filled  the  heavens 
above  the  Falls  of  Okaluna?" 

"A  fire?  An'  did  yer  see  no  pale,  tired  wum- 
man  ?" 

"Only  the  fire.  It  was  the  most  terrible  sight 
I  ever  witnessed.  I  stood  there  fascinated,  and 
watched  it  for  more  than  an  hour.  Huge  vol- 
umes of  smoke,  flushed  with  yellow  flame,  raced 
over  the  brilliantly  illuminated  plateau,  while  the 
soaring  pines,  wrapped  in   fire — " 

"Watcher  mean  by  them  words.''  Did  yer  see 
no  wumman.'^" 

"I  saw  the  awful  mountain,  and  it  seemed  to 
be  in  volcanic  eruption.  Tongues  of  fire  darted 
into  the  air  and  vanished.  Webs  of  flames  were 
flung  heavenward — " 

"Listen  to  me !" 

" — as  if  torn  by  invisible  hands  from  the  blaz- 
ing looms  of  some  horrible  inferno — " 

"O  stranger,  stranger !     Did  yer  see — " 

"Sounds  of  distant  thunder  boomed  from  the 
heights  as  boulders  were  rent  by  the  heat  or 
burned-off"  pines  fell  with  a  crash." 

Stybright  was  becoming  furious.  The  utter 
indifference  of  the  man  to  the  cry  of  his  heart 
fairly  enraged  him.  His  teeth  ground  together. 
But  the  rider,  carried  away  with  the  remembrance 
of  the  gorgeous  spectacle,  held  to  his  bombastic 
narrative,  heedless  of  the  anguish  of  the  soul  that 
gazed  so  pleadingly  into  his  own : 

"The  heavens  were  lit  up.     The  vast  dome  hid 


CALL  OF  THE  CONCH  SHELL   21 

its  stars  and  flashed  back  the  furious  paroxysms 
that  heat  against  it  hkc  the  tides  of  a  fiery  sea. 
The  darkness  recoiled  on  itself,  and  beyond  the 
arena  of  supernatural  light  the  night  grew  sullen 
and  ominous—" 

"Just  as  I  be — " 

" — as  if  infuriate  nature  were  about  to  vent 
her  anger  upon  the  moaning  earth  and — " 

"Pull  it  f'm  its  hoss  an'  pitch  th'nfernal  thing 
into  til'  ditch!"  hissed  the  exasperated  Stybright, 
as  he  grasped  the  heartless  rider  by  the  arm, 
pulled  him  from  his  horse,  flung  him  down  by  the 
side  of  the  road  and  leaped  upon  him. 

"Ye'U  triful  'ith  a  desperate  man,  wull  yer?" 
and  he  clutched  his  throat  with  the  grip  of  a 
steel  claw  and  shook  him  as  a  terrier  might  a 
rat.  "Wus  there  a  wumman  an'  a  boy  near 
th'  fire.P     Ansur  afore  I  kill  ye!" 

"I  heard  a  w-w-oman's  v-v-voice  in  the  f-f-fire," 
gurgled  the  prostrate  horseman. 

Stybright  waited  for  no  more.  He  leaped  from 
his  victim  and  ran  in  the  direction  of  Thunder 
Cliff",  the  prey  of  the  worst  apprehensions.  He 
was  pitiable  to  behold;  haunted  with  fear,  aghast 
at  the  conjuring  of  what  might  have  happened 
as  he  saw  the  smoke  of  the  conflagration  still 
hanging  above  the  mountain  like  a  mighty  para- 
chute. 

Exhausted  with  his  running,  faint  from  hunger 
and  grief,  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  his  own 
guilt  in  the  matter,  he   fell  upon  his  knees   and 


22  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

with  tears  and  sobs  cried  to  God  to  come  to  his 
rescue  and  help  him  find  his  lost  Seloe  and  Gyp. 
It  was  the  wail  of  a  frenzied  soul.  "Give  back, 
give  back  mah  wife  an'  wee  boy,  an'  I'll  dig  my 
whiskey  still  f'm  th'  earth  an'  throw  it  intil  the 
catarac'  of  Lindeno !  An'  mah  drinkin'  '11  go 
with  it.     Help  me,  O  God,  an'  I'll  quit." 

No  sound  of  conch  shell  broke  the  stillness  of 
the  day.  Along  the  trails  and  in  the  deep  de- 
files they  searched.  Amid  jungles  deep  and  the 
fissures  of  mighty  rocks,  where  vultures  soar  and 
plunging  torrents  foam ;  in  dens  where  spotted 
serpents  flash  their  forked  tongues ;  wherever 
mortal  form  might  hide  or  human  corpse  might 
lie  those  faithful  mountaineers  sought  the  lost. 

The  shadows  climbed  slowly  up  the  peaks  and 
pushed  the  sunshine  from  the  summits.  Sty- 
bright  saw  that  the  dreaded  night  would  over- 
take him  before  he  reached  the  Falls.  His  fears 
were  swifter  than  his  feet,  and  his  heart  was  like 
lead  as  he  wound  his  way  toward  the  smoking 
mountain.  As  he  passed  his  home  he  waited  for 
a  little  food  to  strengthen  him,  for  the  worst  was 
yet  to  come.  He  pushed  open  the  door,  and 
stood  there  a  moment  amazed.  There  sat  his 
wife  and  child  by  the  fireless  chimney,  their  wide- 
open  eyes  turned  inquiringly  toward  him.  He 
rushed  into  his  wife's  arms  crying: 

"O  mah  God,  Seloe,  Seloe !" 

It  was  then  the  conch  shell  sounded  from  the 
cliff. 


CHAPTER  IV 
BEHIND  THE  CATARACT 

"Seloe,  Seloe !"  St ybright  crooned  as  he  patted 
his  wife  on  the  cheek  in  his  wonderful  delight. 
He  could  scarcely  reconcile  himself  to  the  joy  of 
her  presence.  Seloe  was  startled  at  the  unusual 
effusiveness.  She  could  scarcely  believe  her  own 
eyes.  She  feared  her  husband  was  losing  his 
mind.  It  was  a  revelation.  She  knew  not  what 
to  make  of  it,  while  Gyp  looked  on  from  a  safe 
distance,  ready  to  take  to  the  woods  on  the  slight- 
est provocation. 

"Mah  dear  Seloe !"  crooned  the  happy  man  as 
he  frisked  about  her,  almost  beside  himself  with 
joy.  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  rained  kisses 
upon  her  pale  cheeks.  Gyp  thought  it  about 
time  to  break  for  the  elder  thicket ;  but  meeting 
some  neighbors  at  the  door  returned.  Stybright 
in  his  exuberance  gave  no  heed  to  their  coming. 

"Whar  ye  been,  Seloe?  Gyp,  whar  ye  been? 
Weuns  been  a  huntin'  youns ;  an'  I  been  a  prayin' ! 
Whar  ye  been?" 

Seloe  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  All  this  from 
the  man  whom,  only  a  few  hours  ago,  she  had 
left  drunken  in  his  bed  with  brutal  curses  on  his 
lips !     And  this   incoming  of  the  neighbors   with 

23 


24<  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

strange,  inquiring  looks !  She  gazed  from  one  to 
the  other,  and  said: 

"Wat's  been  a  happenin'?" 

"Th'  Lord  bless  ye,  Seloe !"  fervently  ejacu- 
lated the  Rev.  William  Watchcob ;  "won't  ye  tell 
th'  people  whar  ye  been  all  this  time,  an'  w'at 
yer  been  a  doin',  you  an'  th'  lad?" 

"Not  till  th'  world  ends,  an'  har'ly  then,  kin 
I  tell  ye  th'  happenin'  o'  las'  night.  But  I've 
foun'  mah  boy,  an'  that's  blessin's  a  plenty." 

"But,  Seloe,"  entreated  the  eager  husband  who 
sat  gazing  into  her  face,  "weuns  been  a  huntin' 
an'  a  scourin'  all  th'  hills  fer  ye.  An'  I  been 
most  like  a  wild  animal,  jes  plum  crazy  fer  ye." 

"Well,  Guy,  ye  know  th'  boy  was  lost,  an'  some- 
thin'  tol'  me  t'  go  way  ofF  to  th'  Thunder  ClifF 
an'  I  went." 

"Not  alone,  Seloe ;  yer  didn't  go  alone  through 
all  th'  night  far  off  to  th'  Cliff,  Seloe,  not  in 
th'  dark,  did  yer.?" 

"I  shorely  did.  Tired  an'  broken  an'  mos' 
dead  I  went,  up  th'  face  o'  th'  cliff,  over  th' 
slipp'ry  rocks  an'  leaves  an'  moss,  slippin'  an' 
fallin'  an'  cryin' — " 

"Maw,  w'y  didn't  ye  call  an'  I'd  a  cum  t'  ye?" 
Gyp  tenderly  inquired. 

"jNIah  boy,  I  called  till  I  thought  mah  heart 
would  burst  right  thar ;  all  alone  in  th'  wild  night 
thar  I  cried.  An'  I  fell  faintin'  t'  th'  groun',  an' 
th'  lantern  set  fire  t'  th'  leaves.  It  was  that  ci-y 
that  waked  ye,  Gyp." 


BEHIND  THE  CATARACT  25 

"O  Seloe !"  gasped  Stybright  as  he  seized  her 
hand,  "how  near  I  cum  t'  losin'  ye !" 

"Yes,  paw,"  shouted  Gyp,  aroused  at  the  re- 
membrance of  the  peril  in  which  they  both  were ; 
"maw,  she  been  a  mos'  burndcd  up,  an'  I  said, 
'Quick,  maw,  dish-a-way,'  an'  tugged  at  her  skirts 
t'  waken  her.  I  hollered  an'  hollered  an'  maw 
woke  up,  an'  th'  fire  was  a  droppin'  f'm  th'  big 
pines  an  a  crecpin'  in  th'  grass,  an'  hissin'  in  th' 
trees  lak  a  storm,  an'  I  tho't  we  be  both  roasted, 
an'  maw  saw  th'  fire  an'  saw  me,  an'  clasped  me 
t'  her  breast  an'  screamed  so's  I  know  God  hcer'd." 

"Wat  did  yer  do,  Gyp ;  how'd  ye  git  out  o' 
th'  fire?" 

"I  took  maw  by  th'  hand,  'quick,  maw !  behind 
th'  Falls!'  I  hollered,  an'  we  run'd  behind  th' 
fallin'  water,  an' — " 

"Ye  don't  mean  t'  tell  us,  boy,  that  yer  went 
under  th'  Falls  of  Okaluna  when  th'  fire  was 
a  ragin'?"  spoke  up  Judy  Gans,  who  had  been  lis- 
tening spellbound. 

"That's  jes  w'at  we  did,  'cept  not  under  but 
back  o'  th'  Falls,"  answered  Seloe.  "Thar  be  a 
mighty  cave  in  thar  'ith  damp  leaves  an'  a  bad 
smell;  an'  nobody  but  jes  Gyp  an'  th'  chipmunks 
knowed  it  was  thar.  An'  thar  we  stayed  till 
mornin',  th'  rocks  makin'  a  roof  above  us,  th' 
Falls  porin'  an'  a  porin'  an'  a  roarin'  all  night 
in  front  of  us,  an'  although  all  th'  mountings  was 
afire  we  wus  safe.  Gyp  an'  me." 

"Maw,  wusn't  it  awful.'"' 


26  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"It  was  th'  mercy  o'  Gawd !"  reverently  ex- 
claimed the  Rev.  William  Watchcob.  "It  was 
sure  th'  mercy  o'  Gawd !" 

"I  might  a  killed  ye,  Seloe,  'ith  mah  drinkin', 
an'  I  been  a  mos'  crazy  all  day  f'r  fear  I  had," 
was  the  trembling  acknowledgment  of  Stybright. 
"I  might  a  killed  ye  'cause  I  been  so  bad  t'  ye," 
and  he  rubbed  his  nose  with  his  bandanna  and 
gave  a  little  snuff  that  sounded  like  a  sob. 

"Aw,  ye  been  a  doin'  nuthin',  you  good  ole  fel- 
ler," and  Seloe  reached  over  and  patted  him  for- 
givingly on  the  cheek.  "You  was  jes  a  takin' 
yer  rest  while  I  been  a  huntin'  wcunscs  little  boy." 

"O  but  I  was  drunk,  Seloe,  I  was  drunk, 
drunk!"  he  answered  quickly,  taking  her  thin 
white  hand  in  his  and  stroking  it  soothingly  as 
a  child  might  the  back  of  a  favorite  tabby.  Then 
looking  around  at  Gyp,  he  said: 

"Gyp,  whar  ye  been,  mah  boy,  when  yer  mammy 
been  a  huntin'  ye.f"' 

"W'y,  paw,  I  jest  went  t'  th'  Falls  t'  see  things, 
an'  as  I  stood  thar  a  lookin'  up  t'  th'  mounting 
top,  I  wunnered  w'at  lay  beyent  it.  I  saw  th' 
sun  a  settin'  behin'  th'  cliff,  an'  I  tho't,  maybe, 
it  was  still  a  sittin'  thar,  an'  I  clum  up  t'  see 
w'at  it  looked  like  w'en  it  was  a  doin'  nothin'.  I 
tho't  it  might  be  a  fairy  place  'ith  purty  things 
an'  bu'ful  faces,  an'  I  wunnered  if  there  wus 
houses  an'  w'at  tha  looked  like,  an'  w'at  sort  o' 
creeters  lived  in  'em,  an'  w'at  cur'us  things  I'd 
see  thar.     An',  paw,  I  didn't  know  it  was  wrong 


BEHIND  THE  CATARACT  27 

to  climb  up  an'  find  out.      So  I  clum  up  among 
th'  rocks  an'  sticks  an'  j  aggers  an'  pisen  vines, 
wet  moss  an'  ferns  an'  slippery  things,  an'  w'en 
I  got  thar,  w'y  paw,  it's  jes  like  this  side  o'  th' 
mounting,    jes    dirt    an'    trees    an'    things.      The 
sun  wasn't  sett  in'  thar  at  all.      It  was  jes  a  goin' 
on  an'  on  ;  an'  I  stood  an'  looked  at  its  big  face 
as  it  rested  on  th'  aidge  o'  th'  furdest  mounting. 
I   looked    at   it,   with    it's   big  ^^allcr   face   like   a 
punkin,    an'    it    seemed    as    if    it    wanted    t'    say 
something  t'  me,  an'  I  up  an'  tol'  it  t'  go  on  an' 
say  w'at  it  had  a  mind  ter.      But  it  wouldn't  say 
nuthin',  jes  sot  thar  a  gapin'.       Then  it  sneaked 
down  behin'   th'  hill.     An',  paw,  I   got   so   tired 
a  lookin'  an'  a  climbin'  an'  a  thinkin'  that  I  jes 
lay  down  at  th'  head  o'  th'  Falls  an'  went  asleep, 
an'  I  never  woke  up  till  I  heered  maw  a  scream- 
in'." 

"Did  y^  ever  hear  th'  likes  o'  that?"  commented 
the  grey-haired  preacher.  "Th'  boy  an'  the  sun 
facin'  other,  a  gazin'  at  other,  each  a  lookin' 
into  th'  eyes  o'  th'  other!  The  center  o'  light 
an'  the  center  o'  a  soul.  An'  the  soul'll  live  w'en 
th'  sun  goes  down  t'  come  up  no  more.  Heavings, 
but  it's  an  idee !  I'll  preach  on  that  at  my  next 
apintment." 

"An'  how'd  ye  get  out'n  th'  cave,  Gyp.-^" 
"O  we  jes   stayed  till  th'  fire  got  away  from 
thar,   an'  we   clum   out   an'   come  home  th'  back 
way  o'  th'  mounting." 


CHAPTER  V 
WHOA,  BUCEPHALUS! 

Many  a  day  has  passed  since  that  eventful 
night,  and  Gyp  is  much  more  contented  since  his 
father  has  fulfilled  his  vow  and  thrown  his  still 
into  the  rushing  waters  of  Lindeno.  He  is  be- 
ginning to  feel  himself  somewhat  of  a  man,  and 
to  take  more  than  a  boyish  interest  in  things 
about  him.  One  evening  he  was  seated  by  the 
roadside  watching  the  antics  of  a  grey  squirrel 
in  the  boughs  of  a  hickory  tree,  when  his  atten- 
tion was  diverted  by  the  sound  of  a  small  voice: 
"Gyp,  it's  ha'nted." 

Gyp  turned  and  saw  standing  near  by  a  negro 
lad  about  his  own  size,  bare-headed,  bare-footed, 
and  almost  bare-legged,  plunging  the  toes  of  one 
foot  into  the  dust  of  the  roadway.     He  had  great, 
glistening  eyes  and  plump,  round  cheeks. 
"Wat's  ha'nted?"  Gyp  inquired. 
"Ole  shanty  on  de  hill." 
"Wat's  th'  matter  'ith  th'  shanty?" 
"Full  o'  ghostses,  jes  full  o'  awful  ghostses !" 
"Ghostses  hain't   nuffin,   Mose,   tha   hain't   jes 
nuffin  at  all." 

"O  tha  be,  Gyp,  an'  powerful  bad." 
"Did  yer  see  'em?     How'd  ye  know?" 

28 


WHOA,  BUCEPHALUS!  29 

"Dad  he  got  mos'  caught  las'  night !" 

"Did?" 

"Yes'n  he  feci  de  ghostses  bref  bio'  dish-a-way : 
s-h-o-o-o,  w-h-e-o !"  and  Mose  puckered  his  lips 
and  expelled  his  breath  by  way  of  illustration. 
"  'Deed,  Gyp,  dat  ar  olc  ghos'  jes'  rampages  an' 
rumpages  fru  dat  ar  house  till  weuns  be  skert 
mos'  t'  dcf,  an'  maw  she  be  about  plum  sick,  an' 
pap's  limp  as  a  rag." 

"I  haint  afear'd  o'  no  ghostses  as  ever  wus 
born." 

"I  be,  Gyp." 

"Say,  Mose,  le's  go  up  an'  kotch  'em?" 

"Yer  don't  dast." 

"Cm  on ;  who's  afear'd.  Le's  youns  an'  weuns 
have  a  ghost  hunt?" 

"It'll  eat  yer  head  off,  Gyp.  It  cries  like  a 
cat." 

"Who  cares  fer  a  cat?"  contemptuously  an- 
swered the  Stybright  lad. 

"But  dish  hain't  no  cat.  Hit's  a  ghost,  an'  it'll 
swish  yer  head  off'n  roast  it  in  de  fiah.  Yer 
don't  dast,  Gyp,  yer  don't  dast." 

"Let  'er  swish,  Mose !  I  be  up  at  youns  's 
cabin  when  de  dark  come  on." 

The  proposition  so  frightened  the  tattered 
little  pickaninny  that  he  stood  speechless,  gazing 
into  the  face  of  Gyp ;  then  turned  to  see  if  the 
road  was  clear  toward  home. 

"Who's  this  little  nigger  you  got  here?"  in- 
quired Gyp's  father,  coming  up  at  that  moment. 


30  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  said  to  Mose: 
"Boy,  w'at's  yer  name?" 

"Moses  -  Elijer  -  Jer'mijer  -  'lysses  -  Ajax  - 
Ad'nijer-Ishma'l  Jones." 

"That's  a  whoppen'  big  name  fer  sech  a  teenty 
mite.     W'at  does  yer  pap  call  yer.^*" 

"Mose." 

"That     sounds     like     gitten'     somewhar.     It's 
def'nit.     It's  t'  th'  pint." 

Mose  waited  for  no  more  catechetical  exercises. 
His  black  feet  flew  up  the  road  as  if  the  world 
were  coming  to  an  end,  and  scarcely  halted  till 
he  came  in  sight  of  the  "ole  shanty,"  where  gob- 
lins  and  spirits   of  evil  were   supposed  to   revel. 
As     the     paintless     weather-boarding     appeared 
through  the  trees,  Mose  slackened  his  pace.     He 
ducked  his  head  and  peered  between  the  rails  of 
the  fence,  his  empty  little  head  filled  with  all  sorts 
of    uncanny    imaginings.      He    saw    the    ruins    of 
the    old    mansion,    and    he    crept    slowly    along, 
hunkering  down   behind  the   sagging,  lichen-cov- 
ered palings.     His  eyes  glared  at  the  open  doors 
and    the    sasliless    windows,    the   mossy    roof,   the 
tall    chimneys,    the   bunches    of   forsaken   shrubs, 
and  his   trembling  heart   beat    faster  and   faster 
lest   some   terrible   wraith   should   flit    across   his 
vision.     On  he  crept  till  he  passed  the  gateposts, 
then  with  all  the  energy  that  was  in  his  fat  little 
body  he  ran,  swinging  his  arms  and  uttering  a 
series    of    almost    inaudible    grunts,    and   looking 
back  over  his  shoulder  at  each  jump  to  make  sure 


WHOA,  BUCEPHALUS!  31 

that  all  the  goblins  of  the  nether  world  were  not 
after  him. 

When  he  reached  homo  he  found  a  number 
of  men  sitting  out  on  the  woodpile  discussing 
this  very  thing.  There  was  Pete  Johnsing  wiio 
had  seen  Gen.  Washington  in  all  his  glory,  and 
remembered  all  the  distinguished  presidents  and 
other  great  men  of  the  earth  for  the  last  three- 
score-years-and-ten,  including  the  great  "Mr. 
Linkum."  He  knew  a  thing  or  two.  He  had 
waited  on  "IMassa  Tom,"  when  in  the  days  of  his 
prime  he  ruled  in  that  now  ghost-haunted  man- 
sion. "0  yes,"  he  told  the  startled  group,  he 
remembered  the  "young  leddies  and  gemmen," 
and  how  they  filled  the  night  with  conviviality. 
Great  old  house  it  was,  the  pride  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, piazzas  wide,  doors  ample,  columns  fluted, 
halls  roomy,  mirrors  shining,  carpets  luxurious, 
everybody  happy.  Grand  times  when  the  night 
was  filled  with  music  and  the  slippered  darkies 
served.  And  the  plantation?  0  yes,  Pete  John- 
sing  knew  all  about  how  the  black  men  toiled  in 
the  fields  and  tickled  the  thin,  red  earth  till  it 
smiled  with  plenty,  and  how  the  darkies  made  the 
big  house  hilarious  with  song,  and  snored  in  tlieir 
quarters,  or  in  some  jubilant  hoe-down  made  grim 
night  joyous  in  spite  of  itself.  No  talk  about 
ghosts  in  those  days.  But  now!  The  gray- 
thatched  patriarch  pointed  his  thin  index  finger 
toward  the  ridge,  delivered  a  volley  of  tobacco 
juice  toward  the  woodpile,  and  said: 


32  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Wat  yo'  know  about  ghostses  in  dat  manshun, 
Jim  Sluby?" 

"I  knows  too  much,  'deed  I  does,  Pete  John- 
sing." 

"Well,  w'at  yo'  know?" 

"I  knows  I  seed  suffin  walkin'  dar  in  de  light 
o'  de  moon,  an'  it  sung  lak  de  win'  in  de  hazel 
bushes.  An'  I  heah'd  bells  on  de  staihs,  an'  sof 
sounds  lak  de  purrin'  o'  a  cat.  An'  I  see  white 
fo'ms  movin'  behin'  de  winders  wid  a  soun'  lak 
a  tree  w'en  it  breshes  ag'in  de  side  o'  de  house." 

"Dan  Blossom,  w'at  yo'  know.'^"  Pete  inquired, 
giving  no  heed  to  the  gruesome  tale  told  by  Sluby. 

"W'en  I  thinks  'bout  w'at  I  knows  I'ze  so  skert 
I  git  all  wobbly." 

"Tell  it  out ;  it's  lies  anyway,  'sides,  dar  hain't 
no  ghostses  in  dis  woodpile." 

"One  night,"  proceeded  the  truthful  Dan,  "I 
comin'  pas'  ole  shanty  an'  I  seed  de  shuttahs 
movin',  an'  odder  things  a  movin'.  I  seed  two 
cullud  men  with  no  heads  on  'em  come  out'n  de 
big  house  an'  go  to  de  well.  An'  dem  cullud 
men  laid  dah  skinny  ban's  on  de  win'las  an' 
swung  it  roun'  an'  roun'.  An'  I  heah'd  it  creak 
an'  creak;  an'  I  see  dem  headless  black  gemmen 
look  down  into  de  well  as  if  somethin'  down  dar. 
I  seed  'em  bring  up  a  skull  on  dat  'ar  win'las 
out'n  de  well  an'  tak'  it  in  dar  yarms  an'  go 
back  into  de  big  house ;  an  I  heah'd  suffin  cough ; 
den  suffin  fell  down  staihs,  bump,  bump,  bumpety 
bump,  as  if  dem  niggah's  heads  a  bumpin'  down, 


WHOA,  BUCEPHALUS!  33 

bumpty,  bunipty ;  an'  suffin  squealed  lak  a  rabbit 
w'en  a  dawg  has  it  in  his  mouth.  An'  now,  w'cn 
I  comes  pas'  dat  ar  house,  I  comes  a  roun'  by 
de  back  medder." 

"O  Unc'  Pete  Johnsing,"  Mose  broke  in,  out 
of  breath,  "Gyp  Stybriglit  lie  be — he  be — goin' 
t'  de  big  house  t'  ketch — t'  ketch  de  go-o-o-oses !" 

"Who  gwine  do  dat?"  echoed  a  half  dozen  ter- 
rified voices. 

"Gyp !  he  gwine — gwine  t'night." 

"We'll  stop  dat.  Ghostses  '11  eat  'em  up. 
Whar  Unc'  'Lijer?     He's  afeah'd  o'  nuffin." 

"Unc'  Lije  gone  t'  town  fob  med'cine  fob  li'l 
sick  Pete." 

"Le's  go  meet  'im  an'  help  'im  keep  Gyp  away 
'fore  th'  ghostses  eat  'im.     Cm  on." 

Very  reluctantly  the  frightened  negroes  obeyed. 
Uncle  Elijah  was  the  reputed  hero  of  the  com- 
munity. At  a  good  distance  from  danger  Goliath 
of  Gath  was  nothing  to  him.  He  was  afraid  of 
nothing.  His  vocabulary  was  all  heroics.  Lions 
and  hyenas  were  his  daily  food,  and  grizzlies 
were  nothing  accounted  of.  Meanwhile  Uncle 
Elijah  was  having  some  experiences  unknown  to 
the  woodpile  philosophers.  He  had  left  the  doc- 
tor's office  as  the  shades  of  evening  were  falling, 
and  as  he  neared  the  "ghos'  house"  his  fears  for 
his  own  skin  were  greater  than  his  anxiety  for 
little  Pete. 

The  steed  on  which  he  rode  was  old  and  thin, 
and  his  stumpy  knees  stood  out  like  pine  knots. 


34.  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

The  creature's  head  was  immense,  and  his  ears 
rose  and  fell  as  his  heavy  hoofs  thumped  over 
the  roadway.  When  he  attempted  to  trot  the 
sound  of  his  feet  reminded  one  of  the  old-time 
singing  master  counting  time:  "one-two-three- 
four  ;  one- two-three-four  ;  one-two-three-sing !" 

"Sof'ly  dah,  Bocef'lus !"  crooned  the  rider,  pat- 
ting his  raw-boned  steed  on  the  shoulder.  "Wish 
I  had  some  cotton  bolls  to  put  on  yo'  big,  clumsy 
foots !" 

His  own  heart  was  thumping  against  his  ribs. 
Everything  was  still  as  he  passed  the  empty 
house,  save  the  whisper  of  the  winds  and  the  oc- 
casional flap  of  a  loose  board  on  the  gable.  A 
white  owl  flew  out  and  perched  on  a  dead  tree, 
making  a  slight  crash  among  the  branches. 
Uncle  Elijah  turned  quickly  and  saw  two  great 
eyes  burning  like  candles.  He  had  just  passed 
what  he  supposed  to  be  the  danger  line  when 
a  puff  of  wind  lifted  his  hat  from  his  frowsy  head 
and  tossed  it  into  the  roadway. 

"Wo-ah,  Bocef'lus !"  he  snapped  like  the  sound 
of  a  percussion  cap.  But  Bucephalus  had  en- 
tered into  the  spirit  of  the  place  and  refused  to 
be  halted. 

"Wo-ah,  wo-ah  dah,  yo'  dum  beas' !"  he  urged, 
pulling  on  the  reins  and  leaning  back  until  the 
stirrups  stuck  out  straight  before  him.  "Wo-o 
dah,  I  say  wo-o  dah !" 

He  heard  something  behind  him,  and  he  gave 
himself   a   twist   in  the   saddle   and   looked  back. 


WHOA,  BUCEPHALUS!  36 

O  horrors  of  horrors!  A  strange  object  was 
after  him. 

"Wow-wow-wow !  Go,  Bocef'lus,  go-ah  !  we  be 
bof  dead  niggehs.  Go,  Bocef — wow-wow-wow-ow ! 
I's  a  duni,  dead  niggch,  suah !" 

Bucephalus  pattered  along  beating  time  with 
his  clumsy  batons,  being,  as  was  supposed,  on 
a  full  gallop,  oscillating  up  and  down  like  the 
walking  beam  in  an  oil  derrick,  and  making  about 
as  much  headway,  his  ears  wig-wagging  like  sig- 
nals on  a  battle  ship.  As  ill  luck  would  have  it, 
his  clumsy  legs  seemed  to  get  tangled  up  in  some 
way,  and  with  a  groan  the  old  horse  plunged  for- 
ward with  his  ill-shapen  nose  in  the  dust,  and 
rolled  over  on  his  side.  Uncle  Elijah  turned  a 
somersault  over  the  beast's  head  and  landed  on 
the  broad  of  his  back  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 
He  felt  that  his  time  had  come,  and,  gathering 
himself  together,  looked  down  that  direful  high- 
way and,  feeling  that  his  end  was  near,  raised  his 
imploring  eyes  to  heaven  and  prayed: 

"Hab  mussy,  Lawd !  De  good  Lawd  hab 
mussy  an'  grab  ol'  'Lijer  quick  afore  dat  ghos' 
gittem !  Snatch  me  f'm  de  jaws  ob  de  adve'sary, 
an'  spare  my  li'l  Pete." 

"Dat  you,  Unc'  'Lige?" 

"I'm  all  a  ready,  Massa  Ghos' ;  but  be  mussyful 
to  mah  boy  Pete." 

"Aw,  'Lige!  ghostses  hain't  jes  nuffin'  at  all." 

"W'a.?  dat  you,  Gyp.^" 

"Yes,  I  been  a  doin'  ma  best  t'  ketch  up." 


36  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

At  the  witching  hour  "o'  night's  black  arch  the 
keystane,"  Gyp  and  the  contingent  from  the 
woodpile  conference  came  over  the  hill  and  down 
the  road  leading  to  the  haunted  mansion.  It 
was  a  strange  company.  White  men  and  black 
bent  on  running  dowTi  the  bogies  and  hobgoblins. 
To  the  negro  company  were  added  the  Rev.  Wil- 
liam Watchcob,  Jim  Habor,  Terbaccy  Tom  and 
Jay  Grimp.  It  was  a  sorry  looking  procession. 
The  negroes  were  bunched  together,  silent  as  the 
grave,  the  white  folks  leading  on.  The  witch 
of  Endor,  as  she  stood  face  to  face  with  the  spirit 
of  Samuel,  could  not  have  been  filled  with  greater 
awe  and  horror.  They  felt  that  they  were 
marching  into  the  very  clutches  of  the  Evil  One. 
But  they  wanted  to  "see  Gyp  through."  Their 
wild  eyes  swept  the  night  like  searchlights,  as 
they  bumped  and  knocked  against  each  other  and 
tramped  on  one  another's  heels.  Not  one  of 
them  would  go  nearer  the  house  than  the  "big 
road."  There  they  stood  bunched  like  a  flock  of 
sheep  on  a  hot  summer's  day.  They  called  to 
Gyp,  and  plead  in  all  manner  of  staccato  notes 
not  to  rush  into  the  jaws  of  this  invisible  dragon. 

"Goo'-bye,  Gyp !  De  Lawd  hab  mussy !"  they 
muttered  at  him  as  he  started  up  the  grass-grown 
walk.  Poor  Gyp !  they  never  expected  to  see  him 
again  alive. 

"Don't  you  niggers  let  that  boy  go  in  there 
alone,"  demanded  the  Rev.  William  Watchcob. 
"Be  brave  and  show  your  colors !" 


WHOA,  BUCEPHALUS!  37 

"G'off'n  slio'  yo'  own  culuhs,"  hissed  a  brawny 
negro  as  his  eyes  flashed  on  the  minister. 

"I'll  go.  I'll  not  see  that  boy  go  alone. 
Which  of  you  is  man  enough  to  go  along?" 

"Take  that  sassy  Jim  Habor  and  Terbaccy 
Tom.     Take  care  o'  yer  own  white  trash." 

But  on  looking  about,  those  worthies  could 
not  be  seen. 

"Wait,  Gyp ;  hold  on  a  minute.  I'm  goin' 
along.  I'll  show  these  skert  niggers  that  the  par- 
son's not  afear'd." 

They  started  for  the  door  and  looked  in,  peer- 
ing this  way  and  that.  They  stood  a  moment  in 
the  dark  hall,  only  the  faint  glimmer  of  their 
lantern  relieving  the  heavy,  ominous  silence. 

"Poor  Gyp!"  the  negroes  clucked,  "we'll  neb- 
beh  see  'im  no  mo'.     Goo'-bye,  Gyp,  goo'-bye!" 

There  was  a  muffled  sound  as  of  a  sack  of 
grain  falling  on  the  floor,  followed  by  a  crash 
like  wings  striking  against  a  window.  A  mo- 
mentary flash  of  fire  blazed  through  the  doorway 
and  lit  up  the  cracks  in  the  wall.  The  sound  of 
a  pistol  reverberated  through  the  hollow  cham- 
bers and  smote  on  the  ears  of  the  horrified  ne- 
groes. Following  it  came  a  sound  like  the  bump- 
ing over  the  floor  of  a  decapitated  chicken,  and 
then  a  short,  sharp,  snappy  noise  like  that  made 
by  an  owl  in  captivity.  A  light  at  the  rear  of 
the  building  grew  brighter  and  brighter,  and  two 
forms  were  seen  fleeing  through  the  shrubs  and 
tangled  vines.     It  looked  as  if  the  house  was  on 


38  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

fire.  A  scream  rent  the  air  and  the  negroes  fled 
pell-mell  from  that  bedeviled  and  unholy  place. 

There  was  another  shot,  and  out  of  the  build- 
ing came  a  shriek  which  filled  the  night  like  the 
cry  of  a  beast  in  pain.  Up  the  road  the  black 
feet  flew,  the  negroes  snorting  and  puffing  and 
tumbling  over  each  other.  Once  out  of  sight  of 
that  demoniacal  spot  they  halted  to  talk  over  the 
situation.  They  wondered  how  Gyp  and  the  par- 
son were  making  it,  and  they  decided,  after  much 
palaver  and  brave  argument,  to  go  back.  When 
they  crossed  the  ridge  they  saw  the  sharp  tongues 
of  fire  leaping  from  the  windows.  They  hurried 
down  and,  when  they  came  to  the  old  sagging 
gate  posts,  they  saw  two  shadowy  forms  outlined 
against  the  background  of  flame. 

"It's  Gyp's  ghos'  an'  anodder  ghos' !  Wow- 
wow  !"  and  away  they  fled  again,  never  stopping 
till  they  reached  the  crest  of  the  hill,  when,  look- 
ing back,  they  saw  flames  bursting  through  the 
roof  and  filling  all  the  horizon  with  palpitant 
fire. 

"De  wo'ld  am  cummin'  to  an  eend,"  declared 
Pete  Johnsing,  whose  masterful  spirit  at  the 
woodpile  again  found  expression. 

"Look  dah!  Look  dah !  Wha'  dat,  niggehs?" 
exclaimed  the  excited  Pete,  as  he  pointed  to  two 
figures  plainly  visible  in  the  light  of  the  burning 
structure. 

"Fo'  de  Lawd,  niggehs,  it's  Gyp  an'  de  pah- 
son  !" 


WHOA,  BUCEPHALUS!  39 

"Yit's  dar  ghostscs  !  Run,  niggchs,  run  ;  tha's 
attcr  us  !  Wow-wow-wow  !  Run'r  we  be  all  dead 
niggehs,  suali." 

And  they  did  run,  run  as  the  terrified  never 
ran  before  or  since — all  except  old  Elijah, 
whose  fall  from  Bucephalus  had  so  lamed  him 
that  running  was  out  of  the  question.  He  threw 
himself  down  by  the  roadside  the  most  woe- 
begone of  mortals,  hoping  that  the  ghosts  of  his 
little  friend  and  of  the  preacher  would  pass  him 
by  unnoticed,  yet  assuredly  feeling  that  his  mor- 
tal end  was  near. 

The  ghosts,  however,  did  see  him.  They 
walked  straight  up  to  him,  and  one  of  them  coolly 
said: 

"You  old  fool,  what  are  you  doin'  here.?" 

"I'm  a  waitin'  fer  de  golden  ladder  t'  dim'  up 
home,  Mr.  Ghos' !" 

"Whar  dem  odder  niggers  gone?" 

"De  good  Lawd  done  gib  'em  dc  use  o'  dar 
laigs  an'  they  done  gone  an'  use  'em.  Ize  aready 
fer  de  golden  staihs ;  but  ma  laig's  mos'  broke, 
so  Mistah  Ghos'  tech  it  sof'ly." 

"You  old  ejit,  we'er  not  ghos'es.  Ize  Gyp,  an' 
that's  th'  pahson,  an'  thar's  de  ghose's  w'at  ha'nt 
th'  big  house,"  and  he  flung  a  dead  owl  and  a  cat 
at  his  feet.      "Ghostses  hain't  jes  nuffin'  at  all." 


CHAPTER    VI 

OVER  THE  RANGE 

"T'morrer,  Gyp,  we's  gwine  over  th'  range," 
said  Seloe  Stjbright  to  her  boy. 

"W'y  we  gwine  ober  dar?" 

"Jus'  t'  rest  an'  see  the  water  an'  th'  white 
swans." 

"Be  it  far  away,  maw?" 

"It's  a  right  smart  bit." 

"See  lots  o'  nice  things?" 

"Lots  an'  lots  of  'em,  Gyp." 

"Be   paw   gwine,    too?" 

"We  be  all  gwine,  mah  boy." 

"Wat's  it  lak  on  that  'ar  side  o'  th'  moun- 
ting? Be  thar  houses  an'  dogs  an'  critters, 
trees  an'  streams,  an'  be  folks  ober  dar  like 
weuns  ?" 

"Jus'  de  same,  Gyp,  but  difF'nt.  Th'  lake's 
full  o'  water,  an'  dar  be  skiffs  an'  fine  boys  an' 
gals  a  floatin',  sometimes  a  singin',  sometimes  a 
fishin'  an'  sometimes  a  sittin'  on  de  green  grass 
pullin'  white  cloveh  an'  a  watchin'  dar  shadders 
in  de  lake.  An'  dar  be  sojers  an'  tents  an'  flags 
an'  guns  an'  drums." 

"My,  maw,  I  wisht  it  was  t'morrer." 

"Weuns    be   not   a   ready   fer   t'morrer,   Gyp. 

40 


OVER  THE  RANGE  41 

Lots  o'  things  t'  do,  kase  weuns'll  not  be  back 


soon." 


"I'll  help  yer  out,  maw;  w'at  yer  wants  me 
t'  do?" 

"Well,  Gyp,  yer  maw  wants  yer  t'  go  up  th' 
mounting  t'  Terbaccy  Tom's  house  an'  tell'm 
yer  mammy  wants  t'  borry  his  boss  t'  carry  her 
over  th'  range." 

"  'E's  a  bad  man,  maw.     'E's  agin  us." 

"I  know.  Gyp;  but  he'll  do  it;  he'll  do  it  fer 
me  this  time." 

"He's  a  secesh,  maw?" 

"Yes,  Gyp,  I  know;  but  'e'll  not  hurt  yer." 

"I'll  go,  maw,"  and  away  he  went,  barefoot, 
up  the  graveled  road  with  all  the  hopefulness  and 
dear  anticipations  of  youth,  thinking  only  of  the 
morrow  and  the  good  times  before  him,  and  how 
very  far  away  they  seemed. 

He  stopped  suddenly,  for  he  saw  before  him 
a  big  black  thing  on  wheels,  the  like  of  which  he 
had  never  seen  before.  A  closed  carriage  was  a 
very  unusual  sight  in  that  part  of  the  country, 
and  Gyp  was  greatly  exercised  to  make  out  what 
it  was  and  what  it  meant.  But  his  curiosity  was 
intensified  when  he  heard  conversation,  and  look- 
ing under  the  trees  he  saw  a  sweet-faced  girl  for 
whom  a  well-dressed,  elderly  gentleman  was  break- 
ing branches  of  rhododendron.  The  girl's  arms 
were  full  of  the  glowing  blossoms  and  the 
ground  at  her  feet  was  radiant  with  sprays  of 
color.     As   they  came  toward   the  carriage  with 


42  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

their  arms  laden,  the  girl  discovered  Gyp  by  the 
roadside, 

"Oh,  papa!  what  a  funny-looking  young  fel- 
low!" 

"Isn't  he  an  odd  chap?"  said  the  elderly  gen- 
tleman,  smiling. 

"I  wonder  what  his  name  is?" 

"We'll  find  out,  Aida.  Say,  boy ;  come  up 
here." 

Gyp's  heart  bounded.  He  scarcely  knew 
whether  to  be  pleased  or  frightened,  but  came 
forward  somewhat  shyly,  wondering  in  his  heart 
what  this  strange  man  and  this  beautiful  girl 
wanted  with  him. 

"Boy,  what's   your   name?" 

"Gyp." 

"Isn't  that  a  funny  name,  papa?" 

"What's  the  rest  of  it,  my  lad?" 

"It's  jes  Gyp,  Gyp  Stybright,  that's  all." 

"Gyp  Stybright,"  echoed  the  little  girl. 
"Isn't  he  queer,  papa ;  with  the  oddest  name  you 
ever  heard?"  laughed  the  sweet,  pink-faced  child 
behind  her  sheaf  of  rhododendrons. 

"W'at  be  your  name.  Mister?"  and  Gyp  turned 
inquisitor. 

"Do  I  have  to  tell  you  my  name?"  the  stranger 
replied  with  arched  brows. 

"I  top  yer  w'at  mine  was.  Don't  yer  wanter 
play  fair?" 

The  question  amused  the  little  girl  immensely. 
"Why  certainly,  my  boy,  I  always  play  fair. 
You're  a  bright  young  man.  Gyp." 


OVER  THE  RANGE  43 

"But  yer  haven't  toP  me  w'at  ycr  name  be?" 

"Do  you  think  you  would  know  if  I  told  you?" 

"I  alius  knows  w'at  I  be  tol'." 

"Well,  Gyp,  I'll  tell  you ;  my  name  is  Richard 
Moncure.     Now   do   yon  know?" 

"Yes,  it  be  Richard  Moncure.  But  I  nebber 
heerd  o'  ye  afore.     Whar'd  ye  come  f'm?" 

"No  matter,  boy ;  I'm  here  now.  Where'd  you 
hail  from?" 

"Down  yander.     Say,  whose  gal's  that  ye  got?" 

At  this  blunt  question  both  ]Mr.  ]Moncure  and 
his  daughter  laughed  heartily.  The  musical 
voice  of  the  girl  was  the  sweetest  Gyp  had  ever 
heard.  He  looked  at  her  in  wonderment ;  then 
at  Mr.  IMoncure  and  joined  in  the  laughter, 
shoAving  his  array  of  exquisite  teeth. 

"Isn't  he  droll,  papa;  just  the  cutest  fellow 
you  ever  saw?" 

"Ain't  ye  gwinc  t'  tell  me  th'  gal's  name?  I 
gin  ye  mine." 

"Gyp,  you'd  tempt  anybody  to  give  you  all 
they  had.  If  it  will  do  3^ou  any  good  and  make 
your  heart  any  happier  I  will  tell  you.  This  is 
my  daughter,  Aida." 

"That's  a  mighty  purty  name." 

"And  Aida's  a  mighty  pretty  girl." 

"Deed  she  be,"  was  Gyp's  decided  comment. 

"And  she  is  just  as  pretty  as  she  looks,"  re- 
plied Moncure,  plaj'fully. 

"0  papa,  hush !" 

"  'E  kin  keep  on  a  goin'  ef  he's  a  mindter,  as 
fur  as  I  care." 


44  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Well,  good  -bye,  Gyp ;  we  are  going,"  and 
Mr.  Moncure  handed  his  daughter  into  the  car- 
riage. 

"Whar  be  ye  gwine?"  the  boy  asked,  disap- 
pointed that  they  were  to  leave  him  so  soon. 

"Home,"  and  the  wheels  began  to  move  down 
the  road. 

"Good-bye,  Gyp,"  called  Aida,  as  she  thrust 
her  head  out  of  the  carriage  and  waved  her  hand 
to  the  bewildered  boy,  who  scarcely  knew  what 
to  make  of  it  all.  He  stood  there  watching  the 
retreating  conveyance  as  it  rocked  and  swayed 
over  the  rough  road  until  it  disappeared  around 
a  point  of  the  hill. 

"Nebbeh  seed  th'  lak  o'  that  in  all  mah  bo'n 
days,"  mused  the  lad  as  he  proceeded  on  his  way. 
"That's  a  heap  better'n  th'  lake  an'  th'  white 
swan's  w'at  maw  was  talkin'  about.  I'll  bet  she's 
nice ;"  and  he  looked  back  in  the  hope  that  he 
might  see  them  return.  But  instead  of  seeing 
the  carriage,  he  beheld  Terbaccy  Tom  coming 
through  the  woods  with  his  gun  on  his  shoulder. 
Seeing  Gyp  he  stopped. 

"Hello,  you  rat !"  he  called  scornfully  to  the 
boy. 

"Hello,   Terbaccy    Tom." 

"Don't  call  me  Terbaccy  Tom.  Call  me  Tom. 
I'm  goin'  t'  lick  the  first  cuss  what  calls  me 
that  name  again." 

"I  didn't  know  yer  had  another  name." 

"Well  I  have  an'  people'll  soon  find  it  out." 


OVER  THE  RANGE  45 

"Well  yer  needn't  t'  jaw  me;  I  didn't  gin  it 
to  yer." 

"Co'se  not.     Wliar  ye  gwine?" 

"Maw  sent  me  up  t'  youns  house  t'  ast  ye  ef 
she'n  paw  c'd  borrcr  yer  hoss  fer  t'morrer  t' 
drive  over  th'  mounting." 


"I  ain't  got  no  hoss." 


"Y'  ain't.''  W'y  I  seed  ye  a  drivin'  it  yistl- 
day." 

"I  sold  it  to-day  to  th'  C'nfed'rate  Gov'ment, 
an'  am  just  on  my  way  home." 

"Wat's  th'  C'nfed'rate  Gov'ment.?"  Gyp  in- 
quired, scarcely  comprehending  these  tremen- 
dously big  words.  If  Tom  had  said  "rebel"  or 
"secesh"  Gyp  would  have  known ;  but  such  over- 
whelming nomenclature  was  too  much  for  him. 
"Wat  yer  mean  by  them  words?" 

"Them's  the  fellers  what's  a  gwine  to  lick  all 
creation  out'n  them  Union  cusses." 

"Wat  tha  been  a  doin'.?" 

"Tryin'  t'  free  th'  niggers.  Some  o'  you  fel- 
lers a  gwine  t'  git  shot  up,  'fore  long.  I  got  a 
big-mouthed  ole  dawg  here  what'U  bark  at  th' 
heels  o'  some  o'  you  Unloners  onc't  it  gets  a 
chance,"  and  he  patted  his  gun  knowingly. 

"x\n'  don't  yer  fergit,  Tom,  that  dawgs  what 
barks  too  much  sometimes  gits  pepper  in  ther' 
own  legs.  I'm  sorry  yer  hain't  got  no  hoss," 
said  the  boy,  not  desiring  to  carry  the  other 
question  farther.  "I  spec'  maw'll  hafter  stay 
t'  home." 


46  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"That's  th'  bes'  place  fer  wimmin  these  days. 
It's  gettin'  pretty  skeery  here  in  the  mountings, 
with  the  Yanks  on  one  side  and  th'  Johnnies  on  th' 
tother.     Be  you  a  Yank?" 

Gyp  pulled  a  small  soiled  United  States  flag 
out  of  his  trouser  pocket,  shook  it  out  before 
Tom  and  said:  "That's  whar  I  be." 

"And  that's  whar  I  be,"  echoed  Tom,  taking 
a  Confederate  flag  from  his  shot  pouch  and  hold- 
ing it  up  alongside  of  Gyp's  flag.  "Y'see  it's 
bigger'n  yourn." 

"Yes'n,  you  be  bigger'n  I  be,  but  I  c'n  out 
run  ye,  an'  out  climb  ye,  an'  out  jump  ye;  an' 
I've  seen  menny  a  bantam  rooster  lick  an  oP  yal- 
ler  shanghai  an'  mak'  it  run.  You  fellers'll  git 
licked,  Tom,  ef  you  is  bigger'n  I  be." 

"Gyp,  I  like  yer  stuff";  an'  I'm  sorry  we  be 
on  diff^'nt  sides." 

"I  spose  we's  all  gotter  take  sides,  Tom.  But 
I  wanted  t'  go  over  th'  mounting  t'  see  th'  lake 
an'  th'  swans  an'  the  nice  houses.  Now  I'll  hafter 
stay  t'  home,  an'  maw  an'  paw  too,  kase  weuns 
can't  get  no  boss." 

"Walkin'  's  good." 

"Maw  can't  walk.  Maw  hain't  well.  Maw 
haster  do  lots  o'  work.  She  hitches  the  ox  t' 
th'  bull-tongue  plow  an'  plows.  Maw  drops  th' 
corn  in  th'  groun'  an'  hoes  th'  sprouts,  an'  pulls 
th'  fodder  an'  totes  it  t'  th'  shed.  Maw  hoes  th' 
taters  in  th'  patch  beyent  th'  house.  She  goes 
t'  town  in  th'  two-wheeled  cart,  sells  th'  chickens 


OVER  THE  RANGE  47 

an'  th'  beans,  an'  tli'  squir'ls  w'at  paw  shoots. 
An'  maw  she's  mos'  plum  done  out ;  an'  paw  tho't 
he'd  lak  t'  give  maw  a  rest  over  th'  range  at  th' 
hike." 

The  cold  heart  of  Tom  was  touched  by  the 
boy's  pathos,  and  by  the  tears  which  were  on 
his  cheeks,  and  he  replied: 

"I'd  give  yer  th'  lioss.  Gyp,  but  it's  gone." 

"Guess  I'd  better  go,  too,"  and  Gyp  turned 
sorrowfully  toward  home. 

"Weuns'll  go  up  the  mounting,  anyhow,"  was 
Guy  Stybright's  hopeful  comment  when  Gyp  told 
of  his  disappointment.  "I  can  borry  a  cart,  an' 
weuns'll  hitch  up  th'  ol'  ox,  Jerry ;  an',  maw, 
weuns'll  git  yer  t'  th'  lake.  So  jes  go  t'  bed  an' 
sleep  til  th'  mornin'." 

Stybright  awoke  early  next  morning.  He 
saw  that  Seloe  was  resting  quietly  by  his  side 
and  he  thought  he  would  not  disturb  her.  "Mah 
poor,  tired  wumman ;  let  her  sleep  for  the  ride 
is  a  long  one ;"  and  he  slipped  quietly  from  the 
bed,  kindled  the  fire  and  arranged  for  the  morn- 
ing meal.  Very  softly  he  went  about  through 
the  house.  With  the  journey  before  them  he  felt 
that  a  little  more  sleep  would  do  her  good.  He 
brought  some  water  from  the  spring;  then  took 
a  pail  from  a  forked  stick  on  the  wall  and  went 
out  to  milk.  He  fed  the  old  ox,  Jerry,  and  re- 
turned to  the  house  to  find  "the  mammy"  and 
Gyp  still  asleep.  Day  was  breaking,  and  the 
mists  of  the  morning  hung  grey  along  the  valley. 


48  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

He  went  to  the  bedside  and  laid  his  hand  gently 
on  the  white  brow  that  was  turned  from  him,  and 
said: 

"Mah  sweet  wumman — what !  Seloe  !  O  mah 
God,  Seloe,  Seloe !"  He  started  back,  stared  at 
the  woman  a  moment,  then  caught  her  pale  face 
in  his  hands  and  turned  it  toward  him.  Her  wide- 
open  eyes  glared  on  him  as  they  had  never  done 
before.  A  look  not  of  earth  was  there.  He 
knew  what  it  meant. 

"O  Seloe,  Seloe !  Speak  t'  me,  mah  darlin', 
mah  darlin' ;  O  be  j^ou  dead,  mah  poor  Seloe ! 
Wak'  up,  mah  love  an'  speak  t'  me ;  mah  darlin' 
wak'  t'  me  ;  speak  t'  me.     O  God !     God !     God !" 

The  pitiful  lamentations  of  the  husband  at  his 
awful  discovery  filled  the  house  and  woke  Gyp 
from  his  little  couch  in  the  corner.  He  looked 
into  the  bed  whereon  his  mother  lay,  white  and 
unresponsive.  He  had  never  seen  death  in  this 
guise  before,  and  he  could  not  realize  it.  He 
bent  over  and  kissed  the  cold  lips,  saying: 

"Wak'  up,  mammy,  weuns  be  goin'  t'  dim'  th' 
mountings  th'  day !" 

"She's  clum  her  last  mounting.  Gyp !  O  God ! 
God !  we  be  alone,  alone !"  and  the  father  in  his 
pitiful  grief  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  took  her 
in  his  arms  and  bore  the  rigid  form  to  the  door. 

"Give  her  th'  breath  o'  th'  mountings  and 
mebby  she'll  come  to.  Look  up,  mah  Seloe,  on 
the  old  hills.  Open  yer  lungs.  Breathe  in  th' 
mornin',"  and  his  tears  fell  upon  her  face  as  he 


OVER  THE  RANGE  49 

looked,  O  so  hungcringly,  into  those  expression- 
less eyes.  "Seloe,  Seloe !  0  mah  darlin',  has 
yer  husband  killed  yer  that  he  made  life  so  hard 
fer  ye?"  and  he  drew  the  cold  cheek  up  and 
pressed  it  against  his  own  again  and  again. 
"F'rgive  nie,  mah  poor  dead  love ;  speak  an'  tell 
me  yes,  tell  me  I  be  f'given  an'  tell  me  once 
more  'at  yer  loves  me !  O  Gyp,  Gyp !  yer  poor 
mammy's  gone ;  she  be  gone.  Gyp !" 

"Wat  yer  mean,  paw.?" 

"Mah  boy,  mah  boy ;  she  be  dead,  O  mah  God 
be  with  htr,  she  be  dead !" 

And  Gyp,  seeing  his  father's  tears,  began  to 
cry,  and  tugged  at  the  robe  of  his  mother,  and 
clung  to  her  skirts. 

"Don't  cry,  mah  boy.  She  be  gone  t'  heav'n. 
pore,  pore  mammy ;"  and  he  pressed  her  speech- 
less lips  to  his  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief  and  affec- 
tion. 

"She'll  never  speak  t'  me  an'  li'l  Gyp,  no 
more !" 

"Won't  she  never  come  back  to  weuns,  never?" 

"She'll  never  come  back.  Gyp.  Never.  God's 
took  her.     God's  took  her!" 

Stybright  carried  the  precious  burden  back 
and  laid  it  on  the  bed.  And  never  did  nurse  or 
mother  smooth  the  coverings  about  a  sleeping 
babe  with  greater  gentleness  than  did  the  hard, 
rough  hands  of  the  crushed  husband  draw  the 
thin,  faded  quilts  about  the  form  of  his  beloved 
dead,  sobbing  and  clucking  the  almost  inaudible 


50  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

name,  "Seloe !  Seloe !"  through  his  blinding  tears. 

"Gyp,"  sobbed  the  father,  turning  from  the 
bed  to  his  mystified  and  weeping  child,  "Weuns'll 
have  a  bite  t'  eat,  an'  you  must  run  an'  tell  th' 
people.  Pore  boy,  pore  boy !"  and  he  took  the 
boy  upon  his  knees.  "And  she  loved  yer.  Gyp ; 
she  loved  yer,  an'  now  we'll  hafter  put  her  in  th' 
groun'." 

"I  don't  want  t'  put  my  maw  in  th'  groun'," 
and  the  lad  looked  appealingly  to  his  father 
through  his  tears. 

"Nuther  do  I,  Gyp !  O  Seloe,  Seloe !  0  God ! 
God !  God !"  and  the  grief-mastered  father  set 
the  child  down  from  his  knees,  leaned  his  elbows 
on  the  table  and,  with  his  face  in  his  hands, 
cried  as  if  his  heart  would  break. 

Seloe  had  gone  over  the  range. 


CHAPTER  VII 
SPEARS  AND  PRUNING  HOOKS 

"It's  awful,  Judy." 

"What's  awful,  Sykes?" 

"The  things  that  Jim  Habor  and  Terbaccy 
Tom  be  up  to." 

"What's  they  been  a  doin'  next?" 

"Gone  and  set  the  old  house  afire." 

"Whose  house;  not  yourn?" 

"No,  the  old  ghost  house." 

"Did  y'ever!" 

"Nothin'  left  but  ashes." 

"What  possessed  them,  Sykes.'"' 

"The  devil." 

"They'd  do  anything  the  devil  wanted  them  to." 

"That's  so,  Judy;  that's  so.  The  father  of 
lies  is  the  daddy  of  Jim  Habor." 

"But  why'd  they  bum  the  house  down.?" 

"So's  to  get  the  blame  put  on  the  parson  and 
Gyp.     Habor  has  a  gredge  agin  'em,  ye  know." 

"But  I  don't  see  how  they  could  burn  the 
buildin'  an'  the  other  fellers  get  the  blame  on't." 

"It's  this  way,  Judy.  Gyp  and  the  preacher 
was  on  a  ghost  hunt.  Preacher  went  along  to 
please  Gyp.  Habor  and  Tom  sneaked  into  the 
buildin'   the  back  way,   like   the  scoundrels   they 

61 


52  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

is,  and  while  the  house  was  bein'  searched  by  the 
tother  fellers,  set  it  afire  and  run,  so's  the 
preacher  and  the  boy'd  be  found  in  there  and 
get  the  blame  of  it.  They're  agoin'  to  swear 
they  seen  'em  in  thar  when  the  bleeze  started." 

"I  don't  wonder  ye  called  it  awful.  That 
Habor's  old  Nick's  first  bom  child.  When  the 
gallows  gits  its  own  Jim'll  be  at  the  end  of  the 
rope." 

"Yes'n  some  day  they  may  ferget  to  hang  him ; 
jest  drill  him  with  a  han'full  o'  buckshot. 
Hangin's  a  slow  process  when  the  mob  gits  busy." 

"But  is  there  nothin'  they  can  do  to  save  them- 
selves, the  preacher  and  Gyp.''  Cayn't  they 
prove  they  didn't  do  it?" 

"In  times  like  these,  Judy,  men  don't  get  a 
chance  to  prove  anything." 

"But  they  cayn't  do  nothin'  without  convictin' 
'em,  and  shorely  they  cayn't  get  no  ividence 
agin'  'em." 

"But  if  the  gorillars  get  them,  they  won't  need 
no  ividence.  Gorillars  don't  ask  yer  to  prove 
nothin'." 

"What's  yer  meanin',  Sykes.?  You  shorely 
don't  mean  to  tell  me — " 

"That's  jest  what  I  be  tellin'  ye,  Judy.  And 
the  big  pity  it  is,  Jim'll  spread  the  lie,  and  the 
gorillars'll  believe  him,  and  there'll  be  a  rush  in 
the  night  and  the  mornin'll  see  what  it'll  see." 

"Ye  don't  mean,  Sykes,  that  they'll  kill  the 
preacher  and  the  boy  for  doin'  nothin'?" 


SPEARS  AND  PRUNING  HOOKS       53 

"That's  the  game,  Judy,  that's  the  game. 
Thcy's  Union,  ye  know !" 

"It's  the  game  of  brutes !"  and  there  was  fire 
in  Judy's  eyes  as  she  spoke,  and  there  was  an 
ominous  twitch  to  her  little  round  nose. 

"Jim's  in  that  class,  all  right.  All  beasts  has 
hearts ;  but  Jim  Habor's  got  nuthin'  but  a  giz- 
zard.    He's  brute  lackin'  the  necessary  innards." 

"What  you  think  they'll  do.?" 

"Maybe  get  atter  them  in  the  night  when 
they's  a  sleepin'  and  burn  the  house  over  them, 
as  they  tried  to  do  in  the  old  ghost  house." 

"But  the  parson  and  Gyp  ain't  so  easy 
trapped.  Thcy's  not  agwine  to  be  snared  like 
that.  Has  nobody  put  'em  on  their  guard  or  told 
'em  t'  be  kccrful?" 

"They  know  the  whole  game,  Judy ;  and  are 
jest  watchin'  fer  them  fellers  to  attack  'em. 
Somebody  else'll  drop  'fore  they  does,  ef  they 
don't  watch  out." 

"0  I  hope  they'll  get  'em  fust.  They  is  ter- 
rible men,  Habor  and  Terbaccy  Tom." 

"That's  true,  Judy,  true  as  fallin'  into  the 
crick.  They  is  dangerous ;  and  there'll  be  no 
peace  in  these  mountings  until  they's  got  rid  of. 
And  there  is  that  pesky  Snags  Groucher ;  she's  the 
worst  rattler  in  the  whole  nest  of  sarpints." 

"And  a  rattler  she  is,  Sykes,  a  she  rattlesnake, 
sneakin'  in  the  grass,  with  pisen  in  her  one  yaller 
snag  and  vile  tongue." 

"There's  agoin'  to  be  times  up  in  these  mount- 


54,  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

ings,  Judy.  Blood's  agoin'  to  flow  afore  this 
thing  ends.     It's  a  flowin'  now." 

"D'ye  mean  that  the  bloody  flood  of  war  will 
splash  up  this  high.?" 

"That's  what  I  means,  Judy ;  awful  times  is 
on  us." 

"It  makes  my  blood  boil.  We'll  hafter  take  a 
hand,  Sykes." 

"And  the  wust  of  it  is,  it'll  be  among  old 
friends  and  neighbors." 

"But  what  can  we  do.^"' 

"Shoot  or  be  shot." 

"They  haint  no  middle  ground.'"' 

"None." 

"Cayn't  leave  the  country  if  we  wanted  to  or 
make  our  getaway?" 

"No.     They'd  ketch  us   afore  we  got  out." 

"Then  we'll  stay  and  defend  ourselves." 

"Or  go  out  and  shoot  them  first." 

"It's  awful,  Sykes.  But  if  it's  God's  will  I'll 
get  my  gun." 

"And  the  sooner  ye  get  it  the  safer  ye'll  be." 
Judy  Gans  was  mute  for  a  little  while.  She  lis- 
tened to  the  rushing  of  the  water  in  the  ravine 
below.  Birds  were  in  the  boughs  of  the  trees. 
The  air  was  filled  with  fragrance.  There  was 
a  quiet  over  all  the  mountains  as  if  nature  were 
asleep.  She  looked  up  into  the  face  of  her  com- 
panion and  said: 

"It's  all  so  peaceful.  I  cayn't  think  it  possi- 
ble.    Don't  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it." 


SPEARS  AND  PRUNING  HOOKS       55 

"Ceasin'  to  talk  won't  stop  the  war.  It's 
here." 

"But  it  seems  so  terrible.  Sit  down,  Sykes, 
here  on  this  step,  and  let  us  talk  about  other 
things." 

"I'll  do  it,  Judy.  It's  a  pleasure  to  get  a  fel- 
ler's mind  away  from  blood  and  butchery.  I've 
been  thinkin'  about  them  so  much  that  I'm  about 
ready  to  shoot  the  first  feller  what  says  a  word 
agin'  the  old  flag." 

"So  be  I.  But  we're  not  a  goin'  to  talk  any 
more  about  that." 

"No,  nothin'  more  now ;  we'll  have  a  sweet  time 
together,  fer  there's  no  tellin'  when  we  may  have 
another  chance." 

"Now  don't  get  blue,  Sykesy.  They'll  be  lots 
o'  chances." 

"Tell  you  what  we'll  do ;  make  'em  if  they 
hain't  none." 

"Make  what.?" 

"Chances,  dear." 

"Chances  fer  what?" 

'Now  Judy,  you's  gcttin'  me  in  a  corner.?" 
'Well  cayn't  ye  get  out." 

"Maybe." 

"If  ye  cayn't  I'll  give  ye  a  lift." 

"Judy,  I'm  alius  happy  when  a  sittin'  along 
side  o'  you." 

"That's  comfortin'." 

"Ye  have  a  way  with  ye  that  makes  a  fellow 
feel  as  if  peaches  was  ripe." 


"I 


56  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"I'm  a  fustrate  comforter,  Sykes." 

Snickerby's  warlike  feelings  were  indefinitely 
postponed.  He  sat  on  the  step  of  Judy's  cabin. 
He  looked  up  to  the  sharp  peak  towering  before 
them,  a  few  straggling  pines  dotting  its  rocky 
slopes  with  bits  of  shadows.  He  glanced  at  the 
twisted  roadway  which  lay  like  some  great  red- 
dish monster  with  its  head  hidden  beyond  a  clus- 
ter of  tulip  trees.  He  pulled  his  long  chin, 
looked  into  Jud^^'s  face  and  replied : 

"Yes,  Judy,  it's  mighty  palliatin'  when  a  feller 
can  set  all  alone  with  a  girl  what  onderstands 
him." 

"And  sees  right  through  him,"  and  she  gave 
one  of  those  sweet,  hilarious  laughs  which  startled 
the  whole  neighborhood  into  good  cheer  and  made 
companions  of  the  rocks  and  hills. 

"There's  somethin'  I've  been  a  thinkin'  for 
a   long  time,   Judy." 

"That's  interestin';  about  me?" 

"You'n  me." 

"Can  I  help  you  any  on  it?" 

"Dunno.  It's  up  to  you  when  you  knows  what 
it  is." 

"But  I  cayn't  help  much  when  I  knows  nothin'." 

"Well,  I'm  jes  startin'  in  to  'luminate.  Been 
a  wantin'  to  tell  ye  about  it;  but  this  pesky 
war's  kep  me  back." 

"Why'd  that  keep  ye  back?" 

"Cause  I  might  be  killed,  and  then  it  wouldn't 
be  wuth  while." 


SPEARS  AND  PRUNING  HOOKS      57 

"But  ycr  not  dead  yet,  so  be  happy  while  ye 
can.     Lcniiiie  hear  it." 

"Well,  Judy,  y'  know  you've  got  a  cabin  and 
I've  got  a  cabin." 

"That  makes   two   cabins." 

"You  live  alone  and  I  live  alone." 

"That's   two  livin'   alone." 

"I'm  on  yan  side  o'  the  mounting  and  you're 
on  this  side  the  mounting." 

"Good  piece  apart,  Sykes,  for  war  times." 

"What's  the  use,  Judy." 

"Nothin'  in  it,  Sykes." 

"Which  side  o'  the  mount ing'd  you  ruther  live 
on.?" 

"The  side  you're  on." 

"Well,  I'm  on  this  side  noAv." 

"Then  stay,  Sykesey." 

"It's  a  good  move." 

"Yer  don't  hafter  move.     Stay  whar  ye  be." 

And   Snickerby   stayed. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
ON  THE  ALTAR  OF  PATRIOTISM 

From  gathering  rhododendrons  on  the  moun- 
tain-side Mr.  Moncure  and  his  daughter,  Aida, 
made  their  way  to  their  beautiful  Southern  home. 
Richard  Moncure  was  a  Northerner  by  birth 
and  education,  but  had  removed  to  the  South 
many  years  before  the  outbreak  of  the  Great 
Rebellion.  The  past  year  had  been  to  him  one  of 
great  anxiety.  He  saw  the  new  flag  of  the  Con- 
federacy flung  to  the  winds,  and  how  cheerfully 
thousands  of  his  fellow  citizens  followed  it. 
What  should  he  do?  Go  with  the  people  of  his 
adopted  state,  or  flee  to  the  North  and  follow 
the  flag  of  his  childhood? 

He  sat  on  the  wide  piazza  of  his  home  medi- 
tating on  the  momentous  issues  that  confronted 
him.  The  days  were  growing  darker  with  each 
set  of  sun  and  the  extreme  gravity  of  the  situa- 
tion was  forcing  itself  upon  him.  Looking  up 
from  his  reverie  he  saw  a  buggy  halt  at  the 
gate.  His  old  friend,  Wade  Hampton,  leaped 
to  the  ground  and  ran  up  the  walk  to  greet 
him.  There  was  intense  concern  in  their  counte- 
nances as  they  met,  grasped  hands  and  looked 
into   each   other's   faces.     In   that   glance   whole 

5S 


ON  THE  ALTAR  OF  PATRIOTISM    59 

histories  and  tragedies  were  written.  Mr.  Hamp- 
ton was  the  first  to  speak  after  the  cordial  greet- 
ing. 

"I  am  on  my  way  Nortli,  Moncure,  and  I  have 
stopped  to  say  good-bye.  There  is  no  knowing 
when  we  may  meet  again." 

"Have  you  really  cast  the  die?" 

"There  is  nothing  else  to  do.  I  cannot  re- 
main here  and  be  neutral,  and  I  cannot  go  with 
the  South." 

"Come  up  a  few  minutes  and  let  us  talk  it 
over.  These  are  grievous  times,  friend  Hamp- 
ton," Moncure  said,  pathetically,  as  they  walked 
to  the  end  of  the  piazza  and  sat  facing  each 
other. 

"I  can  scarcely  believe  it  possible,"  ]\Ir. 
Hampton  responded  with  a  sigh,  "that  the  Union 
between  the  states  must  be  dissolved.  To  set  up 
two  separate  governments  side  by  side  would, 
in  my  judgment,  be  more  than  a  mistake;  it 
would  be  a  national  crime." 

"Our  Southern  statesmen  do  not  seem  to  re- 
alize that  a  slave  nation  on  one  side  of  the  Po- 
tomac and  a  free  nation  on  the  other  would 
result  in  no  end  of  bitter  contention  and  recrimi- 
nation, if  not  in  border-ruffianism  and  ultimately 
in  civil  war.  It  would  certainly  involve  inter- 
national complications  which  would  prove  dis- 
astrous to  both  nations."  After  a  moment's 
pause,  Moncure  added  solemnly :  "Maybe  it  is 
just  as   well  that  this  great  question  be  settled 


60  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

by  this  generation,  and  settled  once  for  all."  The 
sigh  that  followed  was  one  of  renunciation. 

"Possibly,  if  it  must  come,"  Hampton  replied, 
"now  is  as  good  a  time  as  any ;  but  only  God 
knows  what  the  end  will  be." 

"Sometimes  it  is  better  to  endure  the  ills  we 
have  than  to  throw  open  the  bloody  gates  of  war 
and  by  fratricidal  conflict  end  them !  But  who 
knows  whether  this  is  such  a  time?  Slavery  is 
the  only  bone  of  contention  between  the  sections, 
and  I  feel  that  it  would  be  better  to  meet  the 
inevitable  calmly,  strive  to  be  just  and  equita- 
ble, frame  laws  in  the  interests  of  the  entire  na- 
tion, do  the  thing  that  is  right,  trust  God  and 
let  the  question   of  slavery  settle   itself." 

"I  believe  so.  With  that  out  of  the  way  all 
grounds  for  hostility  would  disappear  and  the 
valiant  South  and  vigorous  North  dwell  together 
in  amity  and  industrial  peace." 

"It  seems  now  impossible,"  sighed  Moncure  as 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"No  doubt  you  are  right.  The  day  of  reason 
is  passed.  Argument  and  compromise  are  over. 
Sad  and  awful  as  it  is,  the  war  is  on  in  grim  and 
ghastly  earnestness."  And  Mr.  Hampton  paced 
back  and  forth  on  the  piazza  as  he  spoke. 
"Brother  has  taken  up  arms  against  brother, 
father  against  son,  neighbor  against  neighbor. 
The  husbandman  has  abandoned  his  plow  and  the 
laborer  his  tools ;  the  high  born  and  the  low  born 
have  gone  forth  side  by  side,  some  in  blue,  some 


ON  THE  ALTAR  OF  PATRIOTISM    61 

in  gray,  to  shoot,  to  stab  and  club  each  other  to 
the  death.  The  lawyer  has  given  up  his  briefs 
and  the  physician  his  patients  to  join  in  the  game 
of  human  butcliery.  Ministers  of  God  have  gone 
down  from  their  pulpits  to  fight  against  each 
other  in  carnal  death-grip,  or,  as  becomes  them 
better,  to  go  forth  as  spiritual  guides  and  com- 
forters on  the  red  fields  of  the  dying.  The  tidal 
waves,  one  running  North  and  the  other  running 
South,  have  met  in  terrific  onslaught  and  the 
red  spray  of  the  collision  has  been  flung  heaven 
high,  and  the  south  wind  blows  it  North  and  the 
north  wind  blows  it  South,  and  it  falls  in  scarlet 
dew  on  mountain  and  plain,  on  river  and  lake,  on 
the  altar  of  prayer  and  on  the  communion  table ; 
and  in  that  scarlet  rain  the  nation  has  at  last 
awoke.  But  it  is  too  late  to  put  up  our  um- 
brellas." 

Mr.  Hampton  was  almost  beside  himself  as  he 
gave  utterance  to  these  fervid  sentiments.  His 
eyes  burned  restlessly  as  if  he  saw  the  mighty 
shock  of  war  and  valleys  filled  with  heroic  dead. 

"Then,"  said  Moncure,  "we  must  take  the 
hazard  and  abide  by  the  consequences." 

"Moncure,"  and  Hampton  turned  directly 
upon  his  friend,  and  pointing  his  long  index 
finger  toward  him,  "it  is  time  for  us  to  leave  the 
country." 

"I  have  come  to  that  conclusion.  For  the 
past  few  weeks  the  loafers  on  the  street  corners 
have  barked  the  word  'Union'  at  me  as  I  passed 


62  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

along;  and  no  longer  ago  than  yesterday,  when 
my  daughter,  Aida,  was  with  me,  I  saw  her  blue 
eyes  flash  with  indignation  as  some  sneering  re- 
mark was  made  about  the  old  flag.  For  her 
sake  and  my  own,  I  feel  that  we  must  leave.  It 
is  not  safe  to  remain  longer." 

"Have  you  received  any  threatening  letters?" 

"Yes ;  to-day  I  received  an  outrageous  com- 
munication from  Jim  Habor,  the  Confederate 
scout,  and  that  villain  and  blackguard,  Terbaccy 
Tom,  warning  me  that  unless  I  espoused  the  Con- 
federate cause  within  ten  days,  or  left  the  coun- 
try, I  would  be  waited  on  by  the  vigilantes." 

"They  were  very  considerate  to  give  you  ten 
days.  They  notified  me  that  unless  I  left  the 
country  within  twenty-four  hours,  or  reported 
for  military  duty,  I  would  be  shot !" 

"Is  it  possible !"  Mr.  Moncure  paused  a  mo- 
ment. Then  the  old-time  patriotic  fire  blazed  in 
his  eyes.  "My  brother,"  said  he  with  emphasis, 
"we  cannot  check  the  avalanche  nor  turn  back 
the  tidal  wave.  The  red  spray  is  falling  around 
us  now.  There  is  nothing  before  us  but  bloody 
arbitrament  at  the  cannon's  mouth.  I  see  it  all. 
The  mountains  are  filled  with  horses  and  chariots 
of  fire !  Passion  is  in  the  saddle  and  the  peace- 
maker's vocation  is  gone.     Heaven  help  us." 

"That  is  true,  my  brother.  The  two  flags  are 
face  to  face  and  the  fight  must  go  to  a  finish. 
The  sooner  we  reach  the  lines  the  better,"  and  he 
arose  to  go. 


ON  THE  ALTAR  OF  PATRIOTISM    63 

"Wade  Hampton,"  and  Mr.  Moncure  spoke 
with  deep  emotion,  "my  neighbor  and  friend, 
farewell.  I  will  follow  you  within  twenty-four 
hours." 

They  clasped  hands  and  stood  for  a  moment 
looking  into  each  other's  faces.  They  were  giv- 
ing up  everything — home,  possessions,  friends, 
possibly  life.  But  they  felt  it  to  be  the  call  of 
patriotism,  and  there  was  no  turning  back. 
Their  hands  gripped  with  the  friendship  of  years. 

"Farewell,  ^Moncure,  and  may  God  bless  and 
help  you." 

"Hampton,  farewell ;  God  be  with  you,  and  give 
you  safe  journey  to  the  Union  lines." 

The  wheels  died  away  and  Moncure  turned  into 
the  house.  That  morning  he  had  read  the  Four- 
teenth Chapter  of  Isaiah,  and  although  he  was 
no  exegcte,  it  seemed  to  have  a  wonderful  mean- 
ing to  him.  Now  it  came  back  with  added  sig- 
nificance. He  picked  up  a  well-worn  Bible  from 
the  table  and  turned  again  to  the  words  of  the 
prophet,  and  read:  Prepare  ye  slaughter  for  his 
children  for  the  iniquity  of  their  fathers!  "Ter- 
ribly true,"  said  he  by  way  of  comment.  "The 
fathers  have  sinned  and  we  and  our  children 
must  suffer.  And  because  they  have  sinned  we 
must  'prepare  slaughter  !'  " 

He  read  on:  /  will  break  the  Assyrian  in  my 
land  and  upon  my  mountains,  and  tread  him  un- 
der foot;  then  shall  the  yoke  depart  from  off 
them  and  his  burdens  depart  from   their  shoul- 


64  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

der.  "Ah,  there  will  be  plenty  of  'breaking  upon 
my  mountains,'  breakings  of  homes  and  breakings 
of  hearts  and  breakings  of  hopes  and  cherished 
friendships  !  and  the  result  will  be  that  the  'yoke' 
shall  be  broken  and  the  burden  lifted  from  the 
shoulders  of  the  oppressed!  It  is  the  prophesy 
of  broken  fetters  and  liberated  bondsmen."  He 
continued : 

There  cometh  a  smoke  out  of  the  North,  and 
there  is  no  straggler  in  his  ranks.  What  then 
shall  one  answer  the  messenger  of  the  nation? 
"It  started  yonder  at  Sumpter,  but  now  the  smoke 
of  battle  has  darkened  all  the  Potomac.  And 
what  shall  my  answer  be  to  the  messenger  of  the 
nation?  A  patriot  has  but  one  duty — to  obey." 
He  closed  the  Bible  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"Come  here,  my  daughter,"  he  called  up  the 
stairway  to  Aida. 

"Yes,  papa." 

As  she  came  tripping  joyously  down  the  stairs, 
he  said  to  her,  extending  his  hands : 

"My  daughter,  we  leave  the  old  home  to-night." 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that,  papa?" 

"Yes,  my  child.  Take  your  last  look  on  these 
familiar  scenes,  for  we  must  give  them  all  up. 
Come  with  me  a  moment." 

He  led  her  by  the  hand  to  the  garden,  where 
luxurious  flowers  bloomed  and  two  tall  lindens 
cast  their  welcome  shade.  Two  graves  were  there, 
graves  which  the  father  had  not  failed  to  visit 
day    by    day    for    years.     They    kept    his    great 


ON  THE  ALTAR  OF  PATRIOTISM    65 

heart  soft  and  tender.  They  were  the  graves  of 
his  wife  and  only  son.  He  knelt  down  and  kissed 
the  bright  blossoms  about  which  the  purity  of  the 
dead  seemed  to  linger.  He  laid  his  hands  caress- 
ingly on  the  green  mounds  and  his  tears  rained 
like  jewels  into  the  sympathetic  grass.  It  was 
love's  last  libation.  Would  he  ever  look  upon 
these  graves  again.''  The  pitiless  presentment 
forced  its  way  into  his  very  soul.  He  arose,  his 
eyes  swimming  in  their  baths  of  tears,  and  as  he 
turned  to  take  a  last  look,  he  said  through  his 
sobs :  "God  be  with  you  till  we  meet  again." 

Aida    took   him    by    the    hand,   kissed    it,   and 
looking  up  into  his  face,  said: 

"Dear  papa,  it's  hard  to  be  a  patriot,  isn't  it?" 
"Yes,  my  child,  God  knows  how  hard  it  is  for 
us.     But  we  cannot  be  anything  else." 
"If  you  go  to  war,  papa,  I'll  go  too." 
"We  will  talk  of  that  again,  my  darling  child. 
Now  we  must  prepare  to  leave  our  beautiful  home 
and  these  dear  graves  and  make  our  way  North 
as   best    we   can.     We   will    never    see   our   home 
again.     They    will    burn    it    when    we    are    gone. 
The  one  thing  for  us  to  do  now  is  to  save  our 
lives,  if  possible.     This   is  the  price  of  liberty." 
When   they  returned  to  the  house  they  found 
Jim  Habor  at  the  door,  in  his  grey  uniform  and 
insolent   manner,   while   Terbaccy   Tom   held   the 
horses  at  the  gate.     A  crafty,  sinister  smile  was 
on  his  face,  as  he  raised  his  hat,  bowed  contempt- 
uously, and  handed  Mr.  Moncure  a  piece  of  pa- 


66  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

per.  He  then  turned  to  the  gate,  where  he  and 
Tom  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  away  to- 
ward the  city.  As  they  looked  back  they  saw 
Moncure  and  Aida  with  their  heads  close  to- 
gether reading  the  white  sheet  which  seemed  to 
tremble  in  their  hands.     The  note  read: 

"Mr.  Richard  Moncure: 

"You  will  report  for  service  at  the  Confederate 
headquarters  to-morrow  morning  at  eight  o'clock. 

"Jim  Haboe." 

"The  fool !"  hissed  Moncure  through  his  close- 
shut  teeth.  "Eight  a.  m.  !  There  are  sixteen 
hours  between  this  and  eight  to-morrow  morning. 
It  is  moonlight.  Six  hours  will  find  us  at  the 
Stybright  cabin,  and  ten  more  beyond  the  reach 
of  all  danger!" 

If  our  prophesies  only  came  true,  how  sweet 
a  thing  it  would  be  to  paint  the  hours  that  lie 
beyond ! 

"But  papa,  what  about  the  bandits?" 

"My  darling,  we  take  our  chances !" 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  SECOND  STATE 

It  was  court  week  in  the  town  of  Franklin. 
The  clingy  temple  of  justice  stood  a  solemn  mass 
of  brick,  columned  at  the  entrance  and  domed  at 
the  roof,  in  the  midst  of  a  campus  of  patriarchal 
trees.  A  broad  street,  with  dilapidated  side- 
walks, bounded  the  public  square  in  the  midst  of 
which  the  court  house  stood.  The  homes  of  the 
residents  hung  round  about  the  farther  side  of 
the  street  and  gazed  into  the  shadowy  campus 
like  little  fat  Dutch  burghers  watching  a  circus 
tent.  A  few  streets  swung  off  from  this  box-like 
center  of  the  town  and  lost  themselves  in  the  en- 
compassing woods.  The  mountains  stood  round 
about  the  county  seat  and,  from  their  soaring 
heights,  overshadowed  the  scales  of  justice. 

It  was  9 :  30  by  the  old  clock  back  of  the 
judge's  bench.  The  morning  was  as  gentle  as 
ever  tempted  the  meadow  blossoms  into  smiling 
loveliness  or  awakened  maiden  and  lover  to  the 
sweetness  of  domestic  bliss.  One  could  almost 
hear  the  throbbing  of  the  world's  great  heart  and 
the  breathings  of  the  everlasting  hills.  It  was 
a  day  of  great  significance  to  all  who  dwelt  in 
that  hill  country.     Court  was  about  to  convene, 

67 


68  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

and  already  the  red  highways  leading  into  the 
town  echoed  the  hoofs  of  hurrying  steeds  and  the 
shouts  of  the  mountaineers.  What  man  of  woman 
born  would  willingly  absent  himself  from  the 
great  concourse  which  invariably  assembled  on 
the  village  green  on  the  opening  day  of  court? 
Not  that  these  mountain  folk  were  personally  con- 
cerned in  the  administration  of  law,  for  not  one 
in  a  hundred  had  lawyer  to  fee  or  wrong  to  right. 
Court  week  was  a  sort  of  semi-annual  round-up 
where  far  separated  acquaintances  came  to  renew 
their  friendships,  form  new  ties  or  settle  ani- 
mosities in  the  usual  way.  What  the  muster  was 
to  the  fathers  and  the  county  fair  to  the  rural 
populations  farther  north,  court  week  was  to  the 
dwellers  of  these  North  Carolina  strongholds. 

And  so  on  this  pure,  crystal  morning  they  came 
down  out  of  the  mountains  and  up  out  of  the  val- 
leys, and  seemingly  from  the  very  dens  and  caves 
of  the  earth.  They  swarmed  from  everywhere. 
Gloomy  recesses,  untrodden  by  foot  of  tourist, 
yielded  up  their  bearded  dwellers,  and,  mounted 
on  carts  or  wagons,  ox-hauled  or  ass-drawn,  they 
crowded  the  highways  and  byways  heading  toward 
the  little  mountain  town.  They  came  riding  in 
singles  and  doubles,  in  pairs  and  in  squads,  on 
mule  back,  horse  back  and  cow  back ;  men  bearded 
to  the  eyes  and  men,  like  the  priest  in  the  nursery 
rhyme,  all  shaven  and  shorn ;  mustached  men, 
goateed  men,  bright-eyed  and  sullen-eyed;  men  in 
shirt  sleeves  and  men  in  blouses ;  men  straw-hat- 


THE  SECOND  STATE  69 

ted,  and  no  hatted ;  hats  broad-brimmed,  narrow- 
brimmed  and  no-brimmed ;  men  with  lunch  bas- 
kets on  their  arms  and  women  witli  balloon- 
shaped  pokes  hung  from  their  saddle  horns ;  silent 
men,  noisy  men,  men  whose  laughter  made  the 
hills  reecho  and  men  whose  brows  were  like  the 
storm-clouds  on  the  brow  of  Thunder  Cliff; 
women  whose  faces  were  furrowed  like  the  hill- 
slopes  or  fair  as  a  June  landscape  when  the  first 
fruits  are  ripening. 

Thus  they  came,  these  men  and  women  of  the 
mountains,  until  the  groves  nearby  were  filled 
with  whinnying  steeds  or  clogged  with  paintless 
carts  and  wagons,  while  groups  of  garrulous 
neighbors  puffed  their  pipes,  exchanged  lugu- 
brious wit,  pulled  their  harness  from  their  steeds 
and  threw  it  beyond  the  reach  of  inconsiderate 
hoofs. 

The  court  house  square  was  filled  with  men  and 
women  in  pleasant  mood,  the  men  circulating  over 
the  green  or  chatting  in  friendly  groups,  while 
their  wives  and  daughters,  sisters  and  sweet- 
hearts, clad  in  picturesque  attire,  mingled  with 
the  throng  or  gossiped  on  the  benches  beneath 
the  trees.  It  was  a  rough  and  ready  crowd  with 
no  frills  and  no  hypocrisy:  a  people  near  to  na- 
ture's heart — indeed,  too  near.  They  grasped 
each  other's  hands,  smiled,  chatted  and  mumbled 
unconsidered  lies  like  other  people,  vaunted  their 
local  heroisms  and  crowed  over  their  own  ex- 
ploits. 


70  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

Big  Perk  Thompson  was  the  observed  of  all 
observers.  He  was  most  gorgeous  in  his  attire, 
and  caused  many  a  smile  among  the  maidens  and 
an  occasional  guffaw  among  the  men.  His  suit 
was  of  Antwerp  blue.  His  beard  was  long  and 
bushy  with  a  sporadic  streak  of  grey.  His  hair 
fell  on  his  shoulders  and  he  wore  a  greasy,  broad- 
brimmed  slouch  hat.  Perk  Thompson  was 
straight  as  an  arrow  and  moved  through  the 
crowd  with  an  air  of  importance.  His  pipe  was 
a  cob  with  a  section  of  grapevine  inserted.  He 
was  in  ill  humor  because  of  the  side  glances  and 
tittering  of  the  women  and  the  awful  wit  of  the 
men.  He  was  pretty  near  the  limit  of  endur- 
ance, as  anyone  might  have  known  by  the  volumes 
of  smoke  that  encircled  his  scowling  face.  Perk 
was  a  Union  man,  and  in  the  absence  of  the  blue 
of  the  Northern  army,  he  pressed  his  old  Antwerp 
suit  into  service,  and  it  had  become  the  target  of 
friend  and  foe  alike.  Terbaccy  Tom  came  along, 
with  his  gun,  and  seeing  the  gorgeous  suit  with 
which  Perk  was  empanoplied,  it  was  too  much  for 
him,  and  he  stood  there,  gazing  at  Perk,  and 
grinning  like  a  gargoyle,  and  shook  till  the  car- 
tridge box  fairly  rattled  in  his  pocket. 

"Heavings  and  earth,  what  a  frock!"  burst 
from  his  lips  as  he  roared  with  uncontrollable 
laughter. 

Perk  shot  out  his  muscular  fist  and  landed  full 
on  Tom's  face  and  sent  him  spinning  like  a  top. 
"I've  just  been  waitin'  fer  some  old  shanghai  to 


THE  SECOND  STATE  71 

cackle  about  that  air  suit!  It's  alius  safe  fer 
fools  t'  keep  their  mouths  shet,"  and  he  glowered 
down  at  his  victim  as  Jay  Grimp  stooped  to  help 
him  to  his  feet. 

"This  is  only  borrered,  Perk!"  Tom  muttered 
as  he  rubbed  the  blood  from  his  face. 

"Yer  free  to  return  it  any  day,  now  ef  yer 
wanter.  This  blue  sleeve's  alius  loaded  fer  men 
like  you  who  goes  among  his  neighbors  with  a 
gun  on  his  shoulder." 

"Ther'll  be  another  day,  Perk  Thompson,  when 
yer  blue  clothes  won't  save  yer!  Put  that  in  yer 
cob,  ye  ol'  blue-backed  crab !"  shouted  Tom,  with 
a  shameless  disregard  for  his  figures  of  speech, 
as  he  started  to  move  away. 

"Ye  don't  need  t'  wait.  I'm  right  here.  Put 
down  yer  gun,"  and  Perk  flung  his  blue  coat  on 
the  grass.  "I  jest  wanter  get  a  good  chance  at 
some  o'  you  roving  traitors,"  and  Perk  started  to 
follow,  but  was  restrained  by  his  friends. 

"Let  him  go,"  said  Snickerby. 

"We've  gotter  pluck  th'  feathers  offin  these 
buzzards  whenever  we  ketch  'em." 

"Oyes — Oyes!"  shouted  the  court  crier  from  a 
window  in  the  second  story  of  the  court  house, 
"C  o  u  r  t-i  s  -  n  o  w-i  n-session-and-all-people-h  a  v  i  n  '- 
business-afore-said-court-will-come-this-way !"  and 
the  window  went  down  with  a  bang. 

Part  of  the  crowd  began  surging  toward  the  en- 
trance, but  many  remained  beneath  the  trees.  At 
this  moment  a  change  was  given  to  the  day's  pro- 


72  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

ceedings  for  many.  A  tall,  gaunt  man,  with  a 
beard  of  snowy  whiteness  falling  over  his  bosom 
and  drifting  about  his  shoulders,  ascended  the 
court  house  steps  and  stood  facing  the  crowd. 
His  eyes  were  black  and  piercing  as  an  eagle's 
and  looked  out  from  beneath  the  long  thatches  of 
his  brows,  as  with  stentorian  voice  he  called  the 
crowd  to  give  attention.  It  was  the  Rev.  Wil- 
liam Watchcob. 

"Mah  fren's,"  said  he,  "it  be  put  upon  me  t' 
proclaim  th'  funneral  of  Seloe  Stybright,  who 
died  two  year  ago  t'morrer.  Th'  funneral  will 
be  preached  at  th'  grave  o'  Seloe  this  atternoon 
at  two  by  th'  clock.  It  war  announced  at  th' 
big  meetin'  on  th'  Sunday  just  past  two  weeks  ago 
t'  take  place  th'  first  Sunday  follerin'  th'  third 
Satterday  o'  this  month,  which'd  be  next  Sun- 
day ;  but  fer  reasons  which  th'  bereft  Guy  will 
make  known  at  th'  funneral,  th'  time  am  changed 
to  this  atternoon." 

What  a  hubbub  the  announcement  caused.  It 
set  hundreds  of  tongues  wagging.  It  gave  the 
crowd  a  new  theme  on  which  to  amplify,  and 
scores  of  them  lost  all  interest  in  the  proceed- 
ings upstairs.  Seloe  Stybright  had  been  dead  for 
two  years. 

"Funny  thing  this,"  whispered  one  woman  to 
another. 

"Not  a  bit  funny.     That's  the  way  down  here." 

"Don't  yer  preach  th'  funneral  when  the  pus- 
son   dies  .J"' 


THE  SECOND  STATE  78 

"Not  ginnerally.  It  may  be  preached  when 
th'  mourners  git  ready." 

"An'  do  yer  keep  th'  corpse  in  th'  house  all 
this   while?" 

"Naw.  Th'  burr>'in'  takes  place  a  few  hours 
atter  death ;  but  th'  funneral  preachin'  may  be 
months,  er  may  be  years,  atter  th'  burryin'." 

"That's  a  strange  way  o'  doin',  seems  t'  me." 

"Funny  thing  happened  last  week.  Nappy 
Jones  been  dead  more'n  a  year ;  an'  th'  parson 
came  to  do  th'  preachin',  an'  what  do  you  think.'' 
Th'  widdy  Jones  was  thar  wid  her  second  man, 
an'  she  a  leanin'  on  his  arm  listenin'  to  her  fust 
husband's  vartues." 

"An'  this  Stj'bright  woman's  been  in  th'  grave 
two   years.'"' 

"Jesso ;  but  Guy  needn't  a  been  in  sich  a  hurry 
with  th'  preachin'." 

The  festivities  of  the  day  were  changed  for 
many.  The  funeral  had  equal  attraction  for  the 
crowds.  ]\Iany  remained  to  hear  the  chaffering 
of  the  attorneys  upstairs,  but  more  repaired  to 
the  plateau  where  the  body  of  Seloe  lay.  There 
was  bustle  among  the  carts  and  wagons  as  men 
threw  the  harness  on  their  animals  and  hooked 
them  up  to  their  cumbersome  vehicles  and  jogged 
over  the  rough  highway.  Scores  of  them  has- 
tened on  foot,  carrying  their  meal  pokes  with 
them. 

The  old  preacher  led  the  way  and  called  to 
the  people  to   follow.     The  court  crier   cried   in 


74.  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

vain.  He  raised  his  window,  rang  his  bell, 
shouted  his  "Oyes,  Oyes"  over  the  heads  of  the 
people ;   but   soon    called   to    a   deserted   campus. 

It  was  a  picturesque  scene  there  upon  the 
mountain  side  that  bright  afternoon.  The  nar- 
row "shelf"  literally  swarmed  with  men,  women 
and  children  in  many-hued  attire.  It  was  a  veri- 
table flower  garden  in  ever-changing  color,  a  sort 
of  human  kaleidoscope  moving  in  ever-varying 
situations.  There  was  little  to  indicate  the  so- 
lemnity of  a  funeral.  The  preacher  rose  by  the 
side  of  the  grave  and  a  hush  fell  on  the  throng  as 
everyone  recognized  his  interesting  presence. 
His  eyes  glowed  beneath  his  angular  brows.  His 
snow-white  beard  was  the  sport  of  the  winds  as 
it  drifted  about  his  face  and  shoulders  like  shred- 
ded silk.  He  was  loud  in  his  praise  of  the  dead, 
and  when  he  had  finished  the  "preachin',"  he 
called  upon  Guy  Stybright  and  Gyp  to  come  for- 
ward. And  there  by  the  two-year-old  grave 
friends  and  neighbors  came  forward,  one  by  one, 
and  expressed  their  sympathy  and  dropped  words 
of  consolation  into  the  ears  of  father  and  son. 

The  minister  once  more  arose,  and  stretching 
his  long  right  arm  and  skinny  forefinger  into  the 
air,  said : 

"The  'flicted  husband  bids  me  say  t'  th'  people 
that,  t'  save  time  an'  th'  comin'  t'gither  o'  his 
many  frien's  some  other  day,  he  an'  Selma  Lumbo 
have  made  up  to  be  jined  in  holy  mattermony ; 
an'  as   it  is   nobody's   business  but   their'n  there 


THE  SECOND  STATE  76 

hain't  nuthin'  in  the  way.  So  if  th'  people  will 
be  still  I'll  jine  'em.  Guy  an'  Selma  will  arise, 
come  for'ard  an'  be  jined." 

And  there  by  the  grave  of  Seloe  the  afflicted 
husband  entered  his  second  state. 


CHAPTER  X 

AN  APPARITION 

Selma  Stybright  was  a  good  second  to  Seloe. 
Stronger  in  character,  less  yielding,  she  was  able 
to  hold  her  own  against  the  world.  But  for  all 
that  she  was  a  cheerful,  home-loving,  good-na- 
tured soul.  She  busied  herself  in  her  new  home 
as  if  she  had  always  ruled  it.  It  did  not  take 
her  long  to  get  accustomed  to  its  internal  af- 
fairs, or  to  obtain  an  inventory  of  her  new  pos- 
sessions. A  sweep  of  the  rafters  with  her  not 
incurious  eyes,  where  strips  of  bacon,  hoops  of 
sausage  and  bunches  of  withered  herbs  hung ;  a 
glance  into  the  three-cornered  cupboard  with  its 
few  poor  possessions ;  a  survey  of  the  mantel- 
shelf with  its  snuff-sticks  and  tobacco  cans ;  a 
hasty  look  around  the  scantily  furnished  room, 
with  its  one  bed  in  the  farther  corner  and  Gyp's 
couch  stretched  on  the  floor  by  its  side,  like  a 
lion's  cub  at  the  feet  of  its  mother,  and  her  task 
was  completed.  She  had  entered  into  her  king- 
dom, thankful  that  she  had  done  so  well. 

It  was  a  drowsy  evening,  long  months  after  the 
picturesque  marriage  at  the  grave  of  Seloe,  and 
the  three  members  of  the  Stybright  home  were 
seated   by   the   open   fire-place.     A  bed   of  coals 

76 


AN  APPARITION  77 

was  on  the  hearth.  Schiia  arose,  and  going  to  a 
table  by  tlie  wall,  busied  herself  with  prepar- 
ing a  loaf  for  breakfast. 

"Paw,  did  yer  see  that.?" 

"See   what,   Gyp?" 

"That  face  at  th'  winder?" 

"I   seed   no   face." 

"Paw,  I  seed  a  face  clus  by  th'  glass.  It  was 
a  awful  ugly  face.      It  looked  like  Snags." 

"Snags  Groucher!"  and  Guy  Stybright  leaped 
to  his  feet.  "What's  that  she  rebel  doin'  here !" 
and  he  ran  to  the  door,  went  out  into  the  dark- 
ness and  looked  all  about  the  house,  but  could  see 
no  one. 

"Nobody  thar.  Gyp,"  he  said  as  he  returned 
to  his  place  by  the  open  hearth. 

"Paw,  I  seed  that  'ar  face  as  plain  as  yourn." 

"I  heered  somethin'  crashin'  down  through  the 
bushes  by  th'  run — but  it  might-a-been  a  hawg," 
Stybright  nodded,  as  he  twisted  off  a  chew  of  to- 
bacco and  thrust  the  plug  into  his  trouser  pocket. 

"An'  it  miglit-a-been  Snags.  My,  but  she 
looked  ugly  !" 

Sehna  continued  at  her  dough,  her  dress  pinned 
behind  her  and  her  sleeves  rolled  to  her  elbows. 
Guy  looked  at  her  with  a  feeling  of  self-congrat- 
ulation as  he  saw  her  thrust  her  white  knuckles 
into  the  batter.  He  felt  that  there  were  cir- 
cumstances in  which  he  might  have  done  very 
much  worse.  That  was  as  far  as  he  dared  to 
trust  himself  and  as  near  as  he  ever  came  to  ex- 


78  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

pressing  his  affection.  He  smiled  complaisantly 
as  he  deposited  a  mouthful  of  saliva  among  the 
coals  which  Selma  had  drawn  into  place  to  heat 
her  oven.  Then  he  dropped  off  into  a  doze,  with 
his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  chin  on  his  palms, 
occasionally  nodding  or  glowering  dreamily 
toward  the  glowing  coals.  Gyp  was  seated  with 
his  head  in  his  sleeve  and  his  arm  on  the  back  of 
his  chair,  asleep.  There  was  no  speech  between 
the  drowsy  husband  and  wife.  Garrulity  was 
not  a  part  of  their  united  fortunes.  The  only 
sound  that  broke  the  stillness  was  the  plunging 
of  Selma's  fists  into  the  bread  bowl  and  the  heavy 
breathing  of  Gyp  with  his  nose  in  the  angle  of  his 
arm. 

The  door  was  shoved  open  and  Wade  Hampton 
entered. 

"Never  mind,  Stybright,"  said  he,  "don't  rise, 
I  can  wait  only  a  minute." 

"Glad  t'  see  yer,  Hampton ;  come  in." 

"I  only  want  a  bite  to  eat,  and  then  I  must 
hasten  on." 

"Gwine  North?     Selma,  git  'im  a  bite." 

"Yes,  and  I  fear  I  am  being  followed.  I  have 
no  time  to  lose." 

"I'll  throw  yer  boss  a  few  nubbins  while  ye're 
eatin'  yer  pone." 

"W'at  makes  yer  think  ye're  bein'  follered.f"' 
Guy  asked  on  his  return. 

Without  answering  the  question  directly, 
Hampton  inquired: 


AN  APPARITION  79 

"Have  you  seen  Terbaccy  Tom  or  Snags 
Groucher   in   this   neighborhood   recently?" 

Gyp  and  the  father  looked  significantly  at 
each  other. 

"I  told  yer,  paw,"  Gyp  nodded. 

"Th'  boy  sez  he  seed  a  face  at  th'  winder." 

"WOien  did  he  see  it?" 

"Th'  night,   an'   it  looked  like   Snagses." 

"No  doubt  it  was  she,  and  it  bodes  no  good 
for  any  of  us." 

"Wat  be  she  a  doin'  erroun'  here?" 

"She's  a  traitor,  Guy,  she's  a  traitor;  and 
Tom,  you  know,  is  both  a  traitor  and  a  villain." 

"He  be  one  of  th'  worst  on  these  mountings." 

"That  is  true.  He  has  no  more  regard  for 
the  life  of  a  Union  man  or  woman  than  you  have 
for  a  catamount.     We  must  beware  of  both." 

"As  they  hain't  a  showin'  us  no  mercy,  we 
hain't  none  in  their  debt.  I  hain't  a  goin'  out 
any  more  'ithout  me  shootin'  irons." 

"What   time   was   Snags   here?" 

"About  an  hour  ago." 

"It  is  a  good  thing  for  me  that  I  was  not  here 
when  she  looked  through  the  window,  and  per- 
haps well  for  all  of  us." 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  the  conver- 
sation, and  Guy  jumped  for  his  gun,  took  it  from 
its  hooks  on  the  wall,  and  shouted : 

"Come  in!" 

The  door  swung  slowly  open  and  a  ghastly 
apparition   stood  before   them.      Selma   screamed 


80  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

and  raised  her  hands  in  alarm.  Hampton 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  drew  his  pistol  from  his 
pocket.  Both  men  glared  at  the  stranger.  Be- 
fore them  stood  a  pitiable  object  of  humanity, 
as  gaunt  and  haggard  as  ever  darkened  the  door 
of  a  mountaineer.  He  was  wasted  to  a  skeleton. 
His  cheeks  were  sunken  until  every  tooth  seemed 
outlined  against  the  flesh.  His  eyes  glared  out 
of  their  sockets  with  a  luster  that  was  startling. 
He  was  hatless,  and  his  unkempt  hair  stood  out 
from  his  head  in  a  tangled  shock.  He  was  shirt- 
less, and  his  tattered  blouse  and  pantaloons  hung 
loose  upon  him  like  the  rags  on  a  scarecrow.  He 
had  neither  shoes  nor  stockings,  and  his  trou- 
sers were  frayed  to  ribbons  at  the  knees.  If 
Seloe  had  come  down  from  her  grave  on  the  little 
plateau  above  the  cabin  and  appeared  in  her 
shroud  they  could  not  have  been  more  startled. 

The  stranger  raised  his  thin,  wasted  arm  and 
bracing  himself  against  the  doorpost,  looked  with 
his  deep,  burning  eyes  straight  into  the  amazed 
face  of  Stybright,  as  he  said: 

"Union   or   Confederate?" 

Guy  threw  his  hand  upon  the  trigger,  raised 
his  gun  to  his  shoulder  as  he  thundered  back : 

"Union  or  C'nfed'rate,  say  I?" 

"Oh,  Guy,  Guy !"  shrieked  Selma,  as  she  ran 
to  him  and  with  her  hands  covered  with  dough, 
grasped  the  gun  and  pushed  it  out  of  range. 
"He's  Union,  Guy ;  he's  Union  t  Don't  yer  see 
th'  blue  on  'im.?" 


AN  APPARITION  81 

"Yes,  I'm  a  soldier  of  the  Union,  escaped  from 
one  of  tlie  Southern  prisons." 

"Well,  ycr  among  frien's,"  Guy  responded  as 
he  hung  his  gun  on  the  wall. 

There  was  a  hurrying  to  make  the  stranger 
welcome.  Hampton  advanced  at  once  to  grasp 
his  hand,  and  Guy,  as  soon  as  he  had  hung  up 
his  gun,  was  enthusiastic  in  his  hospitality. 
Selma  hastened  to  set  before  her  guests  all  that 
her  poor  accommodations   could  afford. 

"Wat's  yer  name,  INIister.'"'  Gyp  abruptly 
asked,  as  he  stood  by  tlic  side  of  the  chair  and 
looked  up  into  the  haggard  face  of  the  stranger. 

"Jack  Conway ;  and  you  can  see  by  these  tat- 
tered colors  that  I  belong  to  the  Northern  army." 

"Where  did  yer  come  from?"  Guy  asked. 

"Salisbury." 

"And  how  did  yer  git  here?  Did  yer  come 
alone?     Did  nobody  help  yer?" 

"God  was  with  me,  and  good  friends  helped  mc 
or  I  never  could  have  come  over  that  long  dis- 
tance. When  I  escaped  I  was  scarcely  able  to 
walk;  yet  the  thought  of  being  free — out  under 
God's  own  sky,  black  though  it  was,  filled  me  with 
abounding  hope.  It  felt  like  heaven.  It  was  the 
happiest  hour  I  ever  knew." 

"And  was  yer  all  alone  in  the  darkness?  M}', 
how'd  ye  git  along?  Didn't  they  git  after  ye?" 
and  Gyp  continued  to  ask  one  question  after  an- 
other. 

"I  was   alone,  my  boy ;  and   could  only   trust 


82  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

God  and  stumble  on  into  the  moonless  solitude 
of  the  night.  But  I  was  free ;  and  that  gave  me 
courage.  I  praised  the  Almighty  for  the  night 
and  the  pathless  darkness.  I  thanked  Him  that 
the  gossiping  stars  were  hidden  and  that  his 
hand  had  veiled  the  telltale  moon." 

Selma  had  stopped  kneading  her  bread  and 
stood  with  her  back  to  the  Avail  and  her  white 
arms  folded  gazing  with  wide  open  astonishment 
at  the  speaker.  Gyp  had  subsided  into  silence, 
while  Guy  ground  his  teeth  at  the  recital  of  the 
inhumanity  which  his  guest  had  received. 

"Th'  vipers !  I'd  skin  'cm  alive !"  and  he 
landed  a  mouthful  of  saliva  in  the  fireplace. 

"Did  you  have  great  difficulty  in  finding  your 
way  to  friends?"  was  asked  by  Wade  Hampton, 
who  found  himself  so  interested  in  the  story  of 
Conway  that  he  forgot  that  he  himself  was  in 
flight  to  escape  the  fury  of  the  South. 

"Sometimes  I  floundered  and  fell,  as  my  feet 
were  caught  by  confederated  vines,  but  I  arose 
and  stumbled  on,  tunneling  my  way  farther  and 
farther  into  the  friendly  chaos  of  the  night.  I 
saw  at  length  a  light  in  the  distance.  It  shone 
like  the  headlight  of  a  locomotive  boring  its  way 
through  the  hospitable  silence.  But  I  saw  that 
it  was  stationary.  It  made  a  path  for  me 
through  the  darkness,  and  I  headed  straight  for 
it  as  one  might  walk  into  the  face  of  a  star. 
When  I  reached  it,  I  found  it  to  be,  as  I  had 
hoped,  the  window  of  a  negro's  cabin." 


AN  APPARITION  83 

"Then  you  knew  that  you  had  found  friends ! 
These  poor  shives  have  always  been  friendly  to 
the  old  flag.  I  have  never  yet  been  disappointed 
by  one  of  them,"  and  Hampton  looked  at  Sty- 
bright,  assured  that  he  would  confirm  his  state- 
ment. 

"I  never  saw  a  disloyal  nigger,"  and  the  fire- 
place was  replenished  with  another  volley,  as 
Guy  turned  and  inquired  of  Mr.  Conway :  "The 
niggers  were  ready  ter  help  yer.?" 

"Yes,  they  were.  As  I  came  up  to  the  cabin  I 
saw  on  the  wide  hearth  an  old  mammy  busying 
herself  with  the  morning  meal.  By  her  side  a 
swarthy  old  man  bent  over  the  fire  and  was  fill- 
ing his  pipe.  As  I  rapped  both  turned  and 
looked  at  me  with  a  startled  expression. 

"  'Fo'  de  Lawd,  Sambo,  yits  anodder  o'  dem 
Linkum  sojers!'  came  from  the  mammy. 

"  'Git  back  dar  in  de  shadder !'  Sambo  called, 
as  he  came  toward  me,  and  closed  the  door  as  he 
came  out.  He  told  me  that  the  Confederate 
spies  were  prowling  about  the  neighborhood. 
Then  he  took  me  into  the  house,  and  as  there  were 
no  shades  on  the  windows,  he  placed  a  quilt  before 
the  fire  to  screen  the  light.  A  rude  table  was 
in  the  center  of  the  room ;  this  he  shoved  to  one 
side,  and  said  to  me: 

" 'Massa  Sojer,  yo's  not  safe  hyar  a  minit !' 
He  then  lifted  a  tattered  square  of  carpet  on 
which  the  table  had  stood,  and  under  the  carpet 
was  a  trap  door. 


84  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"  'Down  hyar,  an'  be  quick'n  all  the  grey 
backs  in  de  Souf'll  ncbbeh  git  yer.'  Following 
his  directions  I  slowly  worked  my  way  backward 
down  a  crude  pole-ladder  and  found  myself  in 
utter  darkness.  'Lots  o'  good  fellehs  been  down 
dar  afore  ye,  Massa.  De  Lawd's  good  angels'll 
feed  yer  bimeby.'  " 

"Did  ye  ever  hear  th'  likes  o'  that?"  and  Selma 
turned  to  her  husband  with  an  approving  look. 
"Who'd  a  thunk  it?" 

"I'm  a  thinkin'  that  the  Lord  will  have 
extra  crowns  for  old  Sambo  and  Chloe  when  the 
time  comes,"  said  Hampton. 

"It  was  mighty  well  done  fer  two  old  niggers  !" 
and  Guy  twisted  off  another  chew,  as  he  added, 
"Oh,  them  vipers !" 

"As  my  eyes  began  to  adapt  themselves  to  the 
situation,  I  found  a  chair  and  a  rude  cot  await- 
ing me,"  continued  Conway.  "In  a  moment  I 
was  sound  asleep,  and  never  was  slumber  more 
refreshing  to  the  weary  than  to  me  in  that  hole 
in  the  ground  under  the  cabin  floor.  Here  they 
kept  me  and  fed  me  for  two  da^'^s  and  then  Sambo 
piloted  me  a  night's  journey,  and  guided  by  his 
instruction  I  made  my  way  through  the  moun- 
tains until  I  knocked  at  your  hospitable  door  this 
evening." 

"There  are  dangers  on  every  hand.  We  are 
in  the  midst  of  perils.  There  is  not  one  of  us 
safe.  We  must  either  flee  to  the  North,  or  arm 
ourselves   and  hide   in    the   mountains,   and   there 


AN  APPARITION  85 

make  our  defense  until  the  war  is  over,"  com- 
mented Hampton  when  Conway  had  finished. 

"It's  either  shoot  or  be  shot,"  was  Stybright's 
laconic  answer. 

"An',  paw,  I  believe  Snags  is  around  here  to- 
night,"   commented    Gyp. 

"Never  mind,  boy,  she'll  not  come  around  to- 
night. She's  too  big  a  coward.  If  she  saw  you 
lookin'  at  her  through  the  winder,  she'll  know 
that  weuns'll  be  on  the  lookout  fer  her,  an'  she'll 
not  show  up  th'  night." 

Hampton  rose,  examined  his  ammunition  and 
his  gun,  and  then  saying  good-night,  passed  out 
into  the  darkness. 

That  night  as  Conway  lay  dreaming  on  his 
rude  straw  bed  on  the  floor.  Gyp,  who  could  not 
sleep  for  thinking  over  his  thrilling  story,  rolled 
over  toward  him  and  raising  himself  on  his  elbow, 
looked  down  into  the  tired,  wan  face  and  said : 

"Don't  ye  worry.  Mister,  weuns'll  see  yer 
through." 


CHAPTER   XI 
BETWEEN  TWO  FLAGS 

Eager  as  Conway  was  to  see  the  old  flag  and 
get  beyond  the  possibility  of  recapture,  he  recog- 
nized the  necessity  of  remaining,  and,  with  grati- 
tude to  the  lowly  couple  for  their  proffered  hos- 
pitality, he  made  himself  content.  But  the  time 
came  when  his  longing  to  be  away  was  grati- 
fied. Gyp  knew  the  paths  of  the  mountains,  the 
resorts  of  the  "guerrillas,"  as  well  as  the  homes 
of  the  loyal  mountaineers.  He  volunteered  to  be 
Mr.  Conway's  guide.  But  Conway  hesitated  to 
place  himself  under  the  protection  of  one  who 
seemed  so  youthful  in  appearance  and  apparently 
unfitted  to  cope  with  possible  dangers. 

"Mister,"  said  Gyp,  with  an  air  of  injured  in- 
nocence, "my  maw  toP  me  about  a  boy  onct  that 
killed  a  lion  and  a  b'ar,  and  'e  wern't  much  big- 
ger'n  I  be.  The  same  feller  hit  a  big  giant  on 
th'  head  'ith  a  stone  an'  knocked  th'  feller  over, 
then  'e  jumped  on  'im  an'  cut  his  head  off.  Don't 
yer  think  a  boy  knows  nawthin'?" 

"He  wer'  born  t'  th'  mountings,"  his  father 
added,  "an'  'e  kin  find  a  path  out  o'  danger  as  a 
squir'l  finds  its  way  f'm  one  tree  to  another  or  as 
a  bee  flies  home  over  the  hills." 

86 


BETWEEN  TWO  FLAGS  87 

"Don't  ycr  worry,  Mister,  weuns'll  sec  yer 
through." 

"What   about   arms?"   Conway   inquired. 

"  'Twon't  do  no  harm  t'  fotch  'em  ah)ng,"  Gyp 
replied. 

"Guns  is  alius  in  place  in  time  o'  war,"  Guy 
added. 

That  night  Gyp  led  Conway  into  the  camps 
where  the  loyalists  were  "lying  out."  Some  of 
these  men  were  deserters  from  the  Southern  army, 
men  who  would  not  fight  against  the  old  flag, 
and,  with  the  loyal  mountaineers,  made  common 
cause  of  their  patriotism. 

Gyp  and  Conway  passed  one  cabin  after  an- 
other. Some  of  them  were  deserted,  and  in  none 
of  them  did  they  discover  any  light.  These 
cabins  were  perched  on  narrow  terraces  or  on 
the  banks  of  secluded  streams ;  they  were  hidden 
among  scrawny  trees  on  the  stumpy  edges  of  tim- 
berless  tracts,  or  in  little  "clearings"  where  the 
thin  soil  had  scarcely  felt  the  point  of  the  plow. 

At  one  of  these  rude  houses  they  stopped.  It 
was  built  of  rough  logs,  and,  within,  was  devoid  of 
ornament  and  of  every  indication  of  culture. 
There  was  but  one  window,  a  square  opening 
cut  in  the  end  of  the  building,  without  glass  or 
sash,  and  was  closed  by  a  coarse  board-shutter 
which  swung  to  its  place  on  wooden  hinges.  Gyp 
approached  it  cautiously,  motioning  to  Conway 
to  remain  behind.  He  gave  a  signal  like  the 
bleating    of    a    sheep,    repeating    it    three    times. 


88  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

The  door  creaked  on  its  wooden  hinges  and  swung 
slowly  open.  There  was  no  light  within,  and 
but  little  without,  only  the  faint  grey  which  fil- 
tered through  the  trees ;  yet  therein  Gyp  could 
dimly  discern  the  outlines  of  a  tall  man  in  the 
doorway.  He  was  bare-headed  and  his  hair 
hung  on  his  shoulders.  In  spite  of  the  darkness 
Gyp  recognized  the  tall  form  of  the  Rev.  William 
Watchcob. 

"May  weuns  come  in  a  bit,  preacher?" 

"Come  in,  Gyp,"  the  loyal  minister  replied, 
recognizing  the  voice  of  the  boy.  "This  shack's 
open  to  anyone  who  gives  that  signal.  Come 
in." 

"We've  gotter  be  mighty  keerful,"  the  preacher 
informed  Conway  after  the  door  had  been  closed. 

"Is  the  danger  so  very  great?"  Conway  in- 
quired. 

"It  is  great.  They  are  after  us,  and  we  are 
just  waitin'  our  chance.  They  are  hidden  about 
somewhere,  and  we  are  liable  to  be  shot  at  any 
moment.  We're  not  a  molestin'  anyone;  but  if 
them  guerrillas  come  a  searchin'  our  houses  an'  a 
shootin'  us  men,  jest  because  we  be  loyal  to  the 
old  flag,  then  it's  man  hunt  man  and  Death  gets 
th'  fellow  what's  off  guard.  Sometimes  it's  the 
man  in  grey  that's  found  with  a  hole  in  his  head, 
and  sometimes  it's  the  man  in  blue.  It's  a 
mighty  ticklish  business,  stranger." 

"It's  a  terrible  situation,"  sighed  Conway  as 
he  thought  of  the  peril  of  these  loyal  people. 


BETWEEN  TWO  FLAGS  89 

"When  warned  of  danger  men  flee  to  tlic  bush," 
W^atchcob  continued,  "their  wives  or  other  mem- 
bers of  the  family,  creep  out  in  the  night  and 
carry  'cm  food,  and  keep  'em  informed  as  well  's 
they  can  of  any  movements  o'  th'  enemy  of 
which  they  may  hear.  The  children  be  of'n 
made  to  do  picket  duty.  A  young  girl  carelessly 
pickin'  strawberries  or  searchin'  for  lady-slip- 
pers is  in  reality  a  little  sentinel  on  duty  watchin' 
some  road  over  which  the  enemy  might  come. 
Or  some  lad  with  his  bow  and  arrows  strolls  out, 
as  if  he  were  a  huntin'  game,  but  he  alius  keeps 
in  view  the  broad  highway,  that,  like  a  yellow  or 
reddish  storm-fed  stream,  winds  in  and  out  far 
down  the  mounting  side." 

"The  danger  here,"  Conway  suggested,  "is 
almost  as  great  as  at  the  front." 

"The  danger  t'  home  is  greater,  an'  t'  life  it  be 
as  uncertain." 

The  preacher's  voice  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  Big  Perk  Thompson,  still  wearing  his 
gorgeous  Antwerp  blue. 

"  'Nother  home  gone,"  was  his  first  exclama- 
tion, as  he  set  his  gun  in  the  corner.  "That 
devil,  Terbaccy  Tom,  '11  not  fire  any  more  build- 
in's  for  awhile." 

"Did  ye  git  him?" 

"I  sent  him  down  the  mounting  with  some  lead 
in  his  back.  He'll  at  least  think  the  fleas  be 
bad  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  spinal  column 
for  some  days  t'  come." 


90  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Wat's  'e  been  a  doin'?"  Gyp  asked. 

"I  caught  him  runnin'  from  Hank  Hummel's 
home  atter  he  had  set  it  afire,  and  I  sent  some 
ca^^enne  pepper  atter  him." 

"I  seed  'im  set  fire  to  th'  ole  ghost  house  th' 
night  th'  preacher  an'  me  went  t'  hunt  th'  ghosts," 
Gyp  excitedly  replied,  recalling  the  conflagra- 
tion on  that  eventful  night. 

"That  is  true,"  the  preacher  added.  "I  saw 
the  villain  run  f'm  the  house  after  he  had  ap- 
plied the  torch.  He'd  burn  a  home  as  quick  as 
a  pile  of  leaves.  This  neighborhood  '11  not  be 
safe  until  that  man  is  either  shot  or  hung."  The 
old  minister  spoke  with  an  emphasis  which  caused 
Perk  Thompson  to  sneer. 

"And  Snags  Groucher  is  just  as  bad." 

"Worse,"    echoed    the    preacher. 

"She  was  with  him  when  he  fired  the  Hummel 
home.  I  c'd  have  shot  her;  but  I  didn't 
dare  shoot  a  woman,  though  the  time  may  come 
when  we  will  have  to." 

"Treason  knows  no  sex,"  remarked  Conway. 

"She  has  betrayed  our  men  to  death  and 
burned  their  homes,  an'  it  must  be  our  duty  to 
arrest  her  and  keep  her  under  guard  until  this 
thing  is  settled.  If  walls  and  chains  will  not 
keep  her,  then  we  will  use  th'  rope." 

"She  has  long  since  forfeited  her  life.  But 
for  th'  sake  of  her  sex  we  will  spare  her,  unless 
further  depredations  and  bloodshed  on  her  part 
call   for  the  sacrifice.     But  we'll  try  th'   prison 


BETWEEN  TWO  FLAGS  91 

first.  It  seems  such  an  awful  thing  to  shoot  a 
woman." 

"True  fcr  you,  preacher,  but  we  must  save  our 
homes  from  the  torch,  and  our  wives  and  children 
from  being  burned  alive.  A  woman  who  will  do 
this  hain't  fit  t'  live." 

Conway  listened  to  the  recital  of  the  perils  of 
the  mountaineers  and  learned  what  these  non-com- 
batants had  to  endure  for  liberty.  He  saw  the 
light  of  the  burning  home  shimmering  above  the 
trees.  He  saw  these  men  who  were  walking  ar- 
senals, each  with  a  trusty  rifle,  a  great  bowie- 
knife,  haversack  and  canteen.  He  looked  into 
their  honest  faces,  and  thought  of  the  sacrifices 
for  freedom  that  were  made  in  the  land  of  the 
South ;  but  his  reverie  was  cut  short  by  Gyp,  as 
he  said: 

"Better   be    a    goin',    Conway." 

The  two  passed  out  into  the  darkness,  and  up 
a  long  swinging  path  that  doubled  in  and  out 
of   ravines   ever   climbing  higher   and   higher. 

"Yer  won't  be  noways  skert  if  I  show  yer.-"' 

"No,  Gyp;  what  is  it  you  wish  to  show  me?" 
Conway  answered,  a  little  curious  as  to  what  Gyp 
had  to  attract  his  attention  at  that  hour  of  the 
night. 

Gyp  crooked  his  finger  as  a  sign  for  him  to 
follow.  He  then  led  ofT  through  the  thickets  and 
jungles  of  laurel  where  there  was  no  path,  and 
soon  came  into  an  open  clearing,  along  one  side 
of  which  ran  a  high  ledge  of  rocks.     On  the  top 


92  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

of  the  ledge  a  lone  tree  stood  out  in  silhouette. 
Gyp  stopped,  laid  his  hand  on  Conway's  arm  and 
pointing  toward  the  spectral  tree,  whispered  into 
his  ear: 

"That's  him!" 

Looking  up  Conway  saw  the  dark  form  of  a 
man  swinging  like  a  plummet  from  the  spectral 
pine.  It  was  clearly  outlined  against  the  back- 
ground of  sky,  and  was  enough  to  make  one's 
blood  run  cold.  Gyp  relieved  the  tension  by  say- 
ing: 

"He  hadn't  orter  been  a  pokin'  around  a 
shootin'  of  us  fellers." 

The  young  man's  sense  of  horror  had  been 
chilled  by  the  fearful  exigencies  of  war.  He 
thought  no  more  of  such  a  ghastly  sight  than 
of  a  dead  crow  hanging  to  a  stake  in  the  corn- 
field. 

"Gyp,  this  is  awful.     Who  is  it?" 

"Secesh." 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"Shooted  a  Unioner  down  hyar,  an'  thar  he 
be  a  regrettin'  of  it." 

"How  long  has  he  been  there?" 

"Oh,  a  right  smart  spell." 

"What  an  awful  thing  is  war!"  exclaimed  the 
old  soldier,  not  unmindful  of  the  terrible  expe- 
riences through  which  he  himself  had  so  recently 
passed. 

With  that  they  turned  back  into  the  thicket 
and  the  two   soon  regained  the  trail.     As  they 


BETWEEN  TWO  FLAGS  93 

climbed  the  dark  slope  they  passed  the  charred 
ruins  of  a  cabin  on  their  right.  Gyp  said  to  Con- 
way as  they  were  passing: 

"Tha's  all  gone,  every  one  on  'em,  dad  an'  four 
boys.  One  of  'em  died  in  a  rebel  dungeon.  A 
'nother  in  a  prison  down  in  Alabamy.  Two  of 
'em  started  fer  th'  North  t'  jine  th'  Union  army 
an'  th'  g'rillars  got  'em  an'  shot  'em  an'  killed 
'em  an'  left  'em  on  th'  field  fer  bugs  an'  birds 
t'  eat.  An'  one  night  th'  ole  man  an'  his  wum- 
man  wer  a  sittin'  eatin'  ther  taters,  'sturbin'  no 
one,  an'  them  g'rillars  shooted  in  at  th'  winder  an' 
killed  'em  both.  Then  they  burnt  th'  house  on 
'em.  An  I  know  'at  Snags  an'  Terbaccy  Tom 
was  back  of  it.  Yer  needn't  wonder  that  Perk 
Thompson  thinks  she  oughter  be  hung.  Th'  folks 
what  burned  it  was  kotched,  all  'cept  Snags  and 
Tom,  an'  tha'  didn't  have  no  time  t'  say,  'now  I 
lay  me !'  If  tha  lets  us  alone  weuns  ain't  a 
'sturbin'  nobody.  But  w'en  tha  keep  a  huntin' 
us  like  coons  an'  foxes,  an'  shootin'  us  an'  burnin' 
weunses  houses,  tha's  jcs'  gotter  look  out.  Th' 
Lord's  agin  a  secesh,  an'  so  be  I." 

Gyp  pointed  out  to  Conway  log  stables,  and 
barns  made  of  thin  poles,  in  the  lofts  of  which 
they  might  have  seen  rolls  of  blankets  and  coarse 
mattresses,  the  property  of  those  who  were  lying 
out.     But  the  two  passed  on  in  silence. 

The  morning  was  beginning  to  show  grey  in  the 
eastern  horizon  as  they  came  down  a  lonely  path 
to   where    a   little    river   lay  before  them.     Gyp, 


94  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

with  a  backward  movement  of  his  hand  toward 
Conway,  said: 

"Stay    hyar." 

He  then  crept  softly  to  the  edge  of  the  water 
and  listened.  He  looked  up  and  down  the  shore, 
but  in  the  dim  light  of  the  morning  he  could  see 
nothing.  Then  he  imitated  the  cry  of  a  screech- 
owl.  In  a  little  while  he  heard  the  muffled  dip 
of  oars,  and  a  shadowy  boat  came  out  of  the 
darkness  and  pulled  alongside. 

"I  have  been  expecting  you." 

The  voice  was  that  of  a  young  person,  Indeed 
it  sounded  almost  childlike,  and  Conway  was  as- 
tonished when  he  saw  a  bit  of  a  girl  with  loose 
flowing  hair  and  rosy  cheeks  step  from  the  boat. 

"We  must  not  detain  a  moment,"  she  said 
softly.  "There  is  danger."  They  took  their 
places  in  the  boat  and  she  pulled  into  the  stream. 
They  were  soon  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river, 
where  they  stepped  ashore  and  the  boat  was 
drawn  up  under  heavy,  overhanging  branches. 
They  made  their  way  along  a  gloomy  forest 
path,  guided  by  this  young  heroine,  to  her  fath- 
er's cabin.  It  was  only  a  short  distance  from  the 
shore,  but  so  completely  enshrouded  by  dense 
foliage  that  its  location  would  not  be  suspected 
by  anyone  prowling  along  the  river  bank.  And 
yet  it  was  so  near  that  this  little  Miss  could  hear 
Gyp's  prearranged  signal.  When  they  reached 
the  cabin  it  was  both  dark  and  empty. 

"Who  be  you.''     Aida.?"     It  was  the  first  time 


BETWEEN  TWO  FLAGS  96 

tliat  any   of  them  had  spoken   since  leaving  the 
farther  side  of  the  river. 

"Yes,  Gyp.  I  am  Aida,  the  little  girl  you 
found  gathering  rhododendrons  on  the  mountain 
side.  But  we  must  not  detain.  The  enemy  have 
been  shadowing  these  parts  for  days.  Our  men 
are  all  in  the  bush.     We  will  go  there  at  once." 


CHAPTER  XII 

TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TWIN  OAKS 

Conway  was  brought  safely  into  the  camp  of 
the  refugees  and  left  in  the  care  of  Union  men. 
Gyp  and  Aida  saw  much  of  each  other.  Their 
acquaintance  ripened  wonderfully.  They  were 
one  and  inseparable.  The  woodland  rambles 
were  for  them  alone.  But  the  stay  of  the  Sty- 
bright  boy  was  necessarily  brief;  his  errand  ac- 
complished he  must  hasten  his  return ;  and  one 
evening  when  the  shadows  fell  and  the  stars  came 
out  they  were  alone  by  the  river  bank.  Gyp  was 
returning,  and  as  they  were  about  to  shove  the 
boat  into  the  stream  they  heard  the  sound  of 
horses'  feet  galloping  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river,  Aida  laid  her  hand  on  Gyp's  arm  with 
an  admonitory  "h-u-s-h !"  Then  the  sound  of  the 
hurrying  hoofs  died  away  and  the  boat  was 
thrust  out  from  its  leafy  canopy  and  rowed  noise- 
lessly to  the  other  side.  No  word  was  spoken, 
lest  the  very  winds  which  fanned  their  cheeks 
might  prove  traitors  to  their  hopes. 

Gyp  wanted  to  speak.  He  wished  to  tell  his 
fair  pilot  the  great  happiness  which  he  felt ;  but 
he  knew  that  silence  was  wiser  than  speech.  There 
was    an   atmosphere    about   his   heart   which   was 

96 


TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TWIN  OAKS      97 

new  and  strange  to  him,  and  which  did  not 
wholly  arise  from  a  sense  of  gratitude.  He 
hardly  knew  how  to  describe  it,  yet  he  knew  it  was 
a  mighty  comfortable  feeling  for  a  young  fellow 
to  have ;  and  somehow  he  felt  more  at  peace  with 
the  world  in  that  little  shell  of  a  boat  than  the 
circumstances  seemed  to  justify.  He  longed  to 
take  the  oars  from  those  fair  hands  and  row 
away  with  Aida  to  some  enchanted  isle  beyond 
the  sound  of  war  and  the  hate  of  men.  ]iut  he 
thought  it  a  most  delightful  experience  to  be 
wholly  in  her  hands.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  re- 
signing himself  to  the  bliss  of  the  situation. 

The  boat  glided  softly  under  the  boughs  and 
came  to  rest.  Gyp  stepped  lightly  ashore  lest 
the  snapping  of  a  twig  or  the  crackling  of  dead 
leaves  might  loosen  an  avalanche  of  armed  men. 
In  the  darkness  he  managed  to  lay  his  hand  on 
Aida's  and  press  his  thanks  for  braving  the  dan- 
gers of  the  night  for  his  sake.  There  was  a  low 
swash  of  water  among  the  reeds,  and,  with  a 
whispered  good-bye,  he  was  alone.  The  boat 
slipped  away  over  the  water  as  softly  as  the 
swimming  of  a  swan. 

On  the  return  journey  Gyp  avoided  the  main 
road  as  much  as  possible,  and  when  it  became 
necessary  for  him  to  follow  it  his  step  was  as 
light  as  the  foot  of  a  sparrow  in  the  snow.  Some- 
time toward  midnight  he  came  out  of  the  woods, 
left  the  narrow  foot-path  and  entered  the  open 
road.     He   knew   there   was   danger,  yet   in   that 


98  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

part  of  the  mountains  it  seemed  the  only  way  for 
him  to  take,  and  he  trusted  to  darkness  and  good 
luck. 

The  highway  took  a  little  downward  pitch  and 
twisted  around  the  end  of  a  stone  spring-house 
where  the  swing  of  the  hill  led  to  a  strip  of  fring- 
ing willows.  He  knew  by  the  tall,  undefined  mass 
of  oaks,  by  the  dip  of  the  hill  and  the  shadowy 
rampart  of  willows  just  where  he  was.  Above 
the  road  he  saw  a  blur  on  the  hill  slope  which  he 
knew  to  be  a  farm  house.  He  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment to  listen,  then  hurried  on.  A  few  hours 
would  bring  him  home. 

He  darted  into  the  deeper  shadows  of  the  oaks, 
and  stumbled  over  some  obstruction  in  his  path. 
He  rallied,  stumbled  again  and  this  time  fell. 
His  hand  struck  something  soft  and  yielding,  as 
when  one  lays  his  hand  on  a  fur  robe  that  has 
been  folded,  or  as  when  a  child  lies  down  with  its 
head  on  a  dog. 

He  raised  himself  on  his  knees  and  moved  his 
hand  cautiously  over  the  dark  object  whose  out- 
lines he  could  not  see.  It  felt  like  a  human  being! 
The  touch  was  like  that  of  clothing,  a  coat  or 
jacket,  he  knew  not  what.  His  fingers  ran  into 
a  bunch  of  hair  and  then — his  blood  ran  cold. 
In  spite  of  all  his  previous  caution  he  cried: 

"It's  a  man !     It's  a  man  !" 

Then,  his  blood  still  tingling  in  his  veins,  he 
felt  the  cold  face,  moved  his  trembling  fingers 
into   the  sockets  of  the  eyes.     The  clothes  were 


TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TWIN  OAKS      99 

moist,  the  hair  was  clammy  and  sticky.  It  was 
blood,   coagulated   blood! 

"Murder !  murder !" 

His  voice  trembled.  There  was  a  suppressed 
cry  mingled  with  fear  and  horror.  He  leaped 
to  his  feet,  only  to  stumble  over  another  dead 
body,  and  still  another ;  but  whether  friends  or 
foes  he  could  not  tell. 

He  ran  to  that  dull  blur  on  the  hillside,  fell 
against  a  low  fence,  rose,  climbed  the  hill  and 
rapped  furiously  on  the  door.  After  much 
knocking,  and  the  loud  barking  of  chained  dogs, 
a  sash  was  raised  and  a  head  thrust  out  of  an 
upper  window : 

"What's  the  matter  down  there?" 

"It's  murder !  murder !  Somebody's  been 
killed  down  here  under  the  big  trees !" 

"And  who   be  you?" 

"Get  a  light,  quick !  Tha's  three  men  dead ! 
Hurry  up  an'  come  down  hyar !" 

"Who  be  you,  anyway?  Speak  or  I'll  set  the 
dogs  on  yer." 

"I'm  Gyp;  Gyp  Stybright.     Hurry  up." 

"Well  you'd  better  go  home  and  mind  yer  own 
business  or  ther'll  be  four  down  thar  'stead  o' 
three !" 

"0   Snags!   Snags!—" 

The  window  came  down  with  a  bang.  Gyp 
knew  the  voice  of  the  syren  and  that  the  dogs 
would  be  on  him  in  a  moment  unless  he  fled.  He 
ran,  as  best  he  could  through  the  darkness,  to 


100  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

the  cabin  of  Perk  Thompson  and  the  old  preacher, 
and  reached  it  so  exhausted  and  terrified  that 
he  could  scarcely  speak.  The  neighborhood  was 
soon  aroused.  They  knew  that  the  dead  under 
the  twin  oaks  were  Union  men.  There  was  no 
other  inference  from  the  hate  of  Snags  Groucher. 
An  armed  band  was  soon  hastening  toward  the 
scene  of  the  tragedy.  As  they  reached  the  oaks 
a  dark  lantern  was  held  down  to  the  blood-stained 
faces  of  the  dead.  Thompson  took  the  light  and 
held  it  close  to  the  nearest  body.  He  saw  what 
he  feared,  but  he  reached  down  his  hand  and 
turned  the  face  of  the  dead  where  it  lay  in  a 
matrix  of  blood.  Then  he  sprang  upright,  swung 
his  lantern  in  the  air  and  shrieked: 

"Vengeance !  Vengeance !  It's  the  Jennings 
boys  and  Guy  Stybright ;  it's  poor  Guy  Sty- 
bright  !     Now  come  the  vengeance  of  the  Lord !" 


CHAPTER    XIII 
OH  THE  PITY  OF  IT! 

Gyp  kneeled  down  and  took  the  blood-stained 
head  of  his  father  in  his  hands  and  wept  until 
those  fierce  men  turned  away  their  faces.  Little 
weeping  had  they  done  for  many  a  year;  but  the 
sight  of  that  poor  boy  kneeling  there  in  his  fa- 
ther's blood,  the  pitiful  face  tortured  in  the  parox- 
ysms of  death,  trying,  by  the  dim  light  of  the  lan- 
tern, to  wipe  away  the  sand  and  blood  from  his 
face,  caused  those  men  to  turn  aside  into  the  dark- 
ness and  sob  like  little  children.  But  it  was  only 
for  a  moment.  The  awful  horror  and  iniquity  of 
the  tragedy  turned  their  hearts  to  stone  and  their 
tears  to  ice. 

Stybright  and  two  of  his  neighbors  had  evi- 
dently been  hanged  and  then  shot.  The  ghastly 
work  completed,  the  bodies  had  been  cut  down  and 
left  where  they  fell. 

The  first  impulse  of  the  mountaineers  was  to 
burn  and  burn  until  not  a  home  or  hiding  place 
belonging  to  this  murderous  crew  were  left  stand- 
ing— to  shoot,  to  hang  and  club  to  death,  until, 
like  rattlesnakes,  the  whole  "hissing  brood  of 
vipers"  was  destroyed.  The  same  measure  which 
they  had  meted  would  be  measured  unto  them. 

101 


102  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Let  us  first  take  care  of  our  dead,"  Parson 
Watchcob  suggested.  "These  murderers  can  be 
dealt  with  later." 

"Their  blood'll  flow  for  this  awful  crime !" 
hissed  Perk  Thompson,  and  he  turned  and  looked 
toward  the  shadowy  farmhouse  on  the  hillside. 

"An  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth," 
roared  Sykes  Snickerby. 

"The  vengeance  of  the  Lord  can  wait,"  replied 
the  minister. 

"Did  ye  ever  read  this,  preacher,  'whoso  shed- 
deth  man's  blood  by  man  shall  his  blood  be  shed?' 
That's  my  creed  till  every  haunt  of  these  mur- 
derers is  cleaned  out."  Saying  this,  Snickerby 
stooped  down  and  laid  hold  of  Stybright,  saying, 
"Come  on  boys.  Let  us  carry  them  away  from 
this  accursed  spot." 

It  was  a  solemn  procession  that  filed  through 
the  forests  that  sad  morning,  bearing  with  little 
speech  and  much  revengeful  thought  their  pathetic 
burden.  At  the  home  of  the  two  murdered  broth- 
ers they  left  their  dead  until  their  bodies  could 
be  decently  laid  away  to  rest. 

Not  until  they  reached  this  place  had  they 
discovered  that  Perk  Thompson  and  Sykes  Snick- 
erby were  not  with  them.  As  one  of  the  men 
stood  in  the  doorway  he  discovered  a  great  light 
in  the  west.  It  shone  like  a  blaze  of  sunset  over 
the  mountains.  There  were  pulsing  waves  of 
fire  which  beat  against  the  sloping  roof  of  the 
heavens  till  the  whole  firmament  blushed. 


OH  THE  PITY  OF  IT!  103 

"Fire  !  fire  !  There's  a  burnin'  beyond  the  hill," 
exclaimed  the  preacher,  as  he  shaded  his  eyes 
with  his  hand  and  watched  the  pulsations  of  light 
along  the  horizon. 

"That's  some  o'  Perk's  doin's,"  Mark  Dawson 
replied,  as  he  stood  with  Stybright's  bloody  coat 
in  his  hand,  looking  over  the  preacher's  shoulder. 
"Perk's  up  to  somcthin'." 

"Do  ye  think  he's  back  o'  that?" 

"Dunno  ;  but  when  I  took  his  place  at  th'  first 
turn  after  leavin'  th'  oaks  I  heerd  him  say: 
'Curse  that  hillside  brood !'  an'  I  ha'n't  see  him 
sence." 

Dawson  and  tAvo  others  ran  to  the  crest  of  the 
mountain  and  looked  toward  the  west.  Flames 
were  pouring  through  the  windows  of  a  distant 
dwelling.  It  stood  on  the  edge  of  a  great  forest, 
and  by  the  light  of  the  burning  home  they  could 
see  a  broad  road  that  writhed  across  the  land- 
scape. There  were  trees  at  the  top  of  the  hill 
where  the  road  dropped  into  the  valley,  and  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  there  was  a  little  white  build- 
ing. 

"That's  the  house,"  said  Dawson,  "Perk's  got 
his  work  in." 

"What  house?     What's  Perk  been  a  doin?" 

"The  house  whar  Snags  threatened  to  set  the 
dogs  on  Gyp.     Perk  and  Sykes  got  'em  all  right." 

"Think  Sykes's  in  that,  too?" 

"Ha'n't  seen  him  for  an  hour.  Whar'd  ye 
suppose  he'd   go?     Sykes  wouldn't  a  run   away 


104  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

from  helpin'  to  carry  th'  dead  'lest  he  had  im- 
portant business." 

"Ther'  don't  seem  to  be  nobody  about  th' 
house." 

"Ther'  ha'n't  nobody  t'  be  about  th'  house," 
echoed  Perk  himself,  as  he  and  Sykes  Snickerby 
came  suddenly  on  them  from  a  by-path. 

"Perk  w'at  you  been  a  doin'?" 

"Been  a  settlin'  up  Guy  Stybright's  estate." 

"Payin'  his  bills,  be  you?" 

"One  of  them's  paid,  anyhow." 

"He  makes  a  mighty  prompt  executioner," 
laughed  Sykes. 

"Y'  mean  executor,"  tittered  Dawson. 

"Naw:  executioner's  the  word.  It  reaches  th' 
spot  quicker,"  was   Sykes'   retort. 

"He  won't  bother  no  more  Unioners,  the  vil- 
lain," Perk  added,  pointing  toward  the  burning 
home  and  bunch  of  trees  by  the  roadside. 

"Who  won't?"  Mark  Dawson  inquired. 

"That  scoundrel,  Terbaccy  Tom." 

"What  did  ye  do  to  him?" 

"D'ye  see  them  trees  'way  over  yander?" 

"Over   where   we   found    Stybright?" 

"Yes:  d'ye  see  'em?" 

"I  do." 

"Well  ast  them  what's  th'  matter  with  Ter- 
baccy Tom.     They  won't  tell  no  lies." 

"They've  sure  seen  enough  for  one  night,  them 
trees    hez." 

"We  swung  'im  up  by  th'  same  rope  that  Sty- 


OH  THE  PITY  OF  IT!  105 

bright  was  hung  with,"  Perk  continued  by  way 
of   information. 

"An'  w'at  sort  of  a  motto  d'3'e  s'pose  Perk 
tacked  onto  him?"  Sykcs  inquired. 

"Dunno." 

"Hung  a  board  about  his  neck,  and  on  it  he 
wrote:  'As  you  measure  to  your  neighbor  he  will 
measure   back   to  you.'  " 

"There  was  one  on  'em  got  away  that  ought 
to  be  a  hangin'  beside  him." 

"Who  was  that.?" 

"That  she  rebel,  Snags  Grouchcr." 

"Yer  wouldn't  a  hanged  a  woman,  would  yer?" 

"Dunno.  She  settled  th'  question  by  gcttin' 
away,"  lamented  S3'kes, 

"It  was  a  mighty  delicate  dee-fickulty  that  was 
got  out'n  th'  way  when  she  sneaked  into  the 
woods,"  Perk  added. 


CHAPTER    XIV 
DESOLATION 

Gyp  hastened  away  to  tell  Selma  the  awful  tid- 
ings, while  others  sped  through  the  fastnesses  to 
tell  among  the  loyal  cabins  the  story  of  the  brutal 
murders.  The  morning  had  fully  dawned  when 
Gyp  struck  the  old  familiar  trail  that  led  down  to 
the  house.  The  east  glowed  with  radiance.  The 
lowing  of  cattle  and  the  barking  of  dogs  in  the 
valley  below  came  to  his  ears  like  memories 
of  other  days  before  this  awful  grief  rived  his 
heart.  It  all  seemed  in  such  contrast  to  the 
hideous  scenes  of  the  past  few  hours.  The  sweet 
dream  of  Aida  on  the  water  which  only  a  little 
while  ago  filled  his  soul  with  rapture  and  the 
awful  thing  that  had  since  happened  was  like  the 
mixing  of  heaven  and  hell  in  equal  parts.  But 
the  awful  tumult  of  the  tragedy  had,  for  the  time, 
blotted  from  his  soul  the  sweet  apocalypse  of 
love. 

He  came  around  the  hill  in  full  view  of  the  nar- 
rows, in  which  his  home  was  located.  The  great 
chasm  was  filled  with  that  soft  grey  mist  which 
trails  along  the  hill-slopes  when  the  rains  and 
the  nights  are  gone.  Ragged  edges  of  smoke 
jutted   into    the   lateral  valleys    and  hung  lazily 

106 


DESOLATION  107 

there  as  if  their  wings  were  weighted.  Gyp  en- 
tered the  languorous  smoke-belt.  The  air  was 
full  of  the  odor  of  charred  timber,  as  when  one 
throws  a  pail  of  water  on  wood  embers.  He 
thought  of  the  fireside  at  home,  and  of  Selma 
preparing  breakfast  for  his  father,  who,  he  knew, 
would  never  come  back  to  her. 

He  stopped  a  little  while  at  the  grave  of  his 
dead  mother,  Seloe,  and  then  bounded,  with  his 
heavy  heart,  down  the  oft-trodden  path  which  led 
to  his  home. 

But  the  home  was  not  there ! 

Charred  ruins  and  desolation  greeted  him. 

His  amazed  and  bewildered  eyes  saw  only  the 
smoking  ends  of  logs  which  once  had  formed  parts 
of  that  humble  abode.  For  a  moment  he  stood 
aghast,  dazed  and  stupefied.  The  horror  of  it 
seemed  to  have  turned  him  to  stone.  His  soul 
sank  within  him.  Then  into  his  bewildered  mind 
came  thoughts  of  Selma,  and  he  ran  to  the  smok- 
ing ruins  and  searched  eagerly  for  her.  But 
there  was  not  a  living  thing  anywhere  to  greet 
him.  He  called,  but  there  was  no  answer.  It 
seemed  as  if  his  brave  heart  would  break  with  the 
overwhelming  weight  of  misfortune.  Father, 
mother,  home — all  gone  in  a  night !  Alone  in  this 
great  world  of  chaos  and  brutality  where  men 
hunted  their  fellows  like  beasts  of  the  wild  and 
showed  them  less  pity.  His  spirit  was  crushed. 
His  very  soul  seemed  to  have  left  his  pathetic 
body,   and  he   sat  there   a   forlorn,  heart-broken 


108  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

waif  amid  the  blackened  cinders  of  his  home. 
There  was  not  a  soul  to  comfort  him,  not  a  friend 
to  tell  him  what  it  all  meant — this  desolate,  this 
speechless,  this  inexpressibly  wicked  tragedy 
which  was  passing  before  his  eyes.  There  he  sat 
on  one  of  the  half-burned  beams  of  his  home  with 
his  face  in  his  hands,  crushed,  weeping,  empty- 
hearted. 

But  he  stayed  his  tears  when  he  remembered 
Selma.  What  had  become  of  her?  There  was 
tragedy  in  the  very  uncertainty.  Again  he 
searched  among  the  ashes  for  some  tidings  of  her, 
but  searched  in  vain.  Then  he  ran  to  the  near- 
est neighbors,  as  he  had  done  once  before  when 
Seloe  lay  dead  in  her  bed.  But  the  neighbors 
knew  as  little  as  he. 

The  news  of  the  disaster  to  the  Stybright  home 
spread  like  wildfire  over  the  mountains,  and  the 
sympathetic  highlanders  came  down  from  the 
hills  and  up  from  the  valleys  and  in  dumb  curi- 
osity hung  about  the  ruins.  They  raked  the 
embers  and  tossed  the  smouldering  ends  of  logs 
aside.  But  all  they  discovered  was  a  few  bleached 
and  crumbling  bones.  Whether  they  belonged  to 
a  human  being  or  to  the  few  smoked  hams  which 
once  hung  from  the  rafters  no  one  could  tell. 
They  found  no  trace  of  Selma ;  and  they  never  did. 
She  had  vanished  from  the  knowledge  of  the  liv- 
ing as  completely  as  if  carried  to  heaven  in  a 
whirlwind  of  fire.  And  amid  the  mysteries  of 
the  great  war  there  was  none  more  talked  about 


DESOLATION  109 

than  the  unknown  yet  deeply  feared  fate  of  Sehna 
Styhright. 

Gyp  slipped  away  from  the  sympathetic  neigh- 
bors and  went  up  to  the  clifF  overhead  and  there 
threw  himself  on  the  grave  of  Scloe.  If  she  with 
her  warm  and  tender  mother-love  could  only 
speak  to  his  crushed  heart !  If  he  could  only  go 
out  with  her  again  to  the  little  playground  among 
the  pines  and  rhododendrons  ! 

"jNIaw,  won't  yer  speak  t'  me?"  he  sobbed,  as 
his  tears  fell  on  her  unresponsive  grave.  "I  ain't 
got  nobody  t'  love  me  now !  I  found  paw  dead 
on  th'  road  'ith  his  whiskers  all  bloody.  An'  our 
home's  burned  all  up,  an'  nobody  knows  nothin' 
about  my  other  maw.  You  was  alius  good  t'  me. 
Won't  yer  speak  t'  me,  maw  ?  I  don't  know  where 
t'  go  nor  what  to  do." 

But  there  was  neither  voice  nor  cry  nor  any 
that   regarded. 

The  lips  of  the  dead  were  mute  and  the  grave 
had  no  message.  Crushed  with  his  burdens,  worn 
out  with  grief  and  travel,  hungry  and  sore  at 
heart,  he  fell  asleep  on  the  grave  of  his  mother, 
where  God  gave  him  a  few  moments  of  sweet 
oblivion. 


CHAPTER    XV 
THE  OLD  WELL-SWEEP 

"What  you  wimmin  doin'  here,  perched  about 
these  ashes?" 

The  shrill  voice  was  that  of  Snags  Groucher  as 
she  suddenly  appeared  in  the  midst  of  a  group 
of  women  at  the  ruins  of  the  Stybright  home. 
They  were  at  first  startled,  then  their  astonish- 
ment turned  to  hate  and  revenge. 

"Snags  Groucher,  w'at's  th'  meanin'  o'  this?" 
leaped  from  the  lips  of  Judy  Gans. 

"It  don't  concern  you'ns  what  I  know,"  was 
the  impudent  reply. 

"Well  weuns  think  it  do,  an'  we  be  a  goin'  to 
find  out,"  and  Judy's  nose  gave  a  few  character- 
istic twitches. 

"When  ye  do  ye  can  notify  me  at  me  offis !" 
sneered  the  Groucher  woman  with  a  disdainful 
curl  of  the  lip. 

"Y'  know  me,  Snags  Groucher?"  and  Judy's 
eyes  flashed  fire. 

"Yes  I  know  yer.  I'd  re-cog-nize  the  wink  o' 
that  nose  in  Halifax.  I  know  yer,  Judy  Gans,  an' 
it  hain't  added  much  to  me  fund  o'  knowledge," 
and  she  gave  a  defiant  toss  of  the  head. 

"Were  you  here  last  night,  or  were  you  not?" 

110 


THE  OLD  WELL-SWEEP  111 

Judy  asked  calmly  in  spite  of  the  terrible  prov- 
ocation, as  she  pointed  to  the  smouldering  em- 
bers. 

"An'  if  I  was,  that's  my  c'nsam ;  an'  if  I 
wasn't  it's  none  o'  3'ourn." 

"You  had  something  to  do  with  the  burnin'  o' 
this  home  last  night,  an'  the  murder  o'  Stybright 
an'  the  Jennings  boys.  Now  clear  yourself  or 
take  Avhat's  comin'  t'  ye." 

"I  thank  ye  very  much  fer  yer  good  opinion 
of  me.  You'ns  be  very  kind,"  with  a  most  tantal- 
izing and  offensive  bow. 

"You're  our  prisoner.  Take  hold  of  her, 
women." 

Snags  had  not  observed  that  the  women  in 
their  eagerness  to  hear  what  was  said  had  com- 
pletely surrounded  her,  and  at  the  command  of 
Judy  Gans  immediately  closed  in  on  her,  taking 
hold  of  her  arms  and  waist  and  hair  and  feet. 
Snags  fought  like  a  tigress  till  her  hands  were 
bound  and  her  feet  tied. 

"Tie  her  up  to  a  tree,"  said  Mrs.  Dawson,  a  tall 
angular  woman  with  an  assertive  jaw  and  an  eye 
that  was  not  good  to  look  into.  "Tie  her  up. 
We'll  force  her  to  confess." 

"Git  a  pair  o'  pincers  an'  pull  out  a  few  of 
her  hairs,"  insisted  Sade  McQueen ;  "that  won't 
be  half  as  bad  as  burnin'  wimmin  in  their  own 
homes." 

"Do  you  know  me  now,  Snags  Groucher.'"' 
Judy's    face    was    livid   with   her    exertion.     Her 


112  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

hair  was  disheveled  and  hung  about  her  face  like 
dead  grass  over  a  brook's  edge. 

"You're  next,  Judy  Gans.  You'r  time's  a 
comin !  Jes  wait !"  Snags  retorted,  her  small 
eyes  flashing  a  hate  that  was  positively  satanic. 

"Don't  yer  threaten.  Yer  in  our  hands  now. 
Will  ye  answer :  Had  ye  or  had  ye  not  anything 
t'  do  with  th'  burnin'  o'  th'  house  an'  th'  killin'  o' 
Stybright?" 

"None  o'  yer  business !  Did  yer  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  burnin'  o'  my  home  last  night  an' 
th'  hangin'  o'  Tcrbaccy  Tom?" 

"Is  he  hung?" 

"Yes,  stretched  to  a  lim'  o'  th'  twin  oaks." 

"Then  we'll  sing  th'  doxology ;  if  th'  preacher 
was  only  here  t'  lift  th'  chune."  But  Sade  Mc- 
Queen's suggestion  was  not  seconded.  Judy 
Gans  was  too  serious. 

"We  had  nothing  to  do  with  burnin'  yer  home 
or  the  hangin'  o'  Tom.  An'  we  didn't  even 
know  he  was  hung,  though  we  knew  he  orter  been 
long  ago.  But  we'll  settle  one  thing  at  a  time. 
Be  ye  goin'  t'  answer  my  question?" 

"Make  her  answer,  Judy,"  demanded  Mrs.  Daw- 
son. 

"Git  it  out  of  her,"  insisted  Sade  McQueen. 

"Answer,  or  be  hanged,"  called  Jen  Coney, 
from  the  outer  circle  of  the  crowd. 

"Snags,  weuns  is  not  goin'  to  dawdle  no  fur- 
der.  Y'  jes'  gotter  answer  and  no  more  lyin'  or 
foolin'." 


THE  OLD  WELL-SWEEP  113 

"I'll  see  th'  whole  bunch  o'  ye  hanged  afore  I 
gin  yc  any  satisfaction." 

"T'  the  crick  with  her.  Maybe  a  bath'll  be 
good  fcr  her  temper."  The  suggestion  was  from 
Sndo  ]\IcQueen. 

"T'  the  crick!  T'  the  crick  with  her!" 
shouted  a  half  dozen  voices  at  once,  and  away  to 
the  creek  they  started  with  their  obstinate  and 
resisting  prisoner. 

On  the  bank  of  the  stream  Stybrlght  had 
rigged  up  a  well-sweep  for  the  purpose  of  secur- 
ing water  from  the  center  of  the  creek.  The 
sweep  was  set  on  a  pivot  a  few  feet  from  the 
ground  in  such  way  that  the  heavy  end  of  the  pole 
overbalanced  the  long  end  which  reached  over  the 
water.  When  the  pail  was  full  it  was  an  easy 
matter  to  swing  the  sweep  on  its  pivot,  lift  the 
pail  from  its  fastening  and  empty  it.  To  this 
crude  invention  the  women  came  half-dragging, 
half-carrying  their  infuriate  and  blaspheming 
prisoner. 

"Stop  yer  swearin'.  Snags,  or  ye'll  git  an  extry 
dip  fer  that,"  called  the  Coney  woman. 

"Will  ye  tell  now,  afore  we  rig  ye  up  t'  th' 
sweep?     It's   yer  last  chance." 

"Find  out  what  yer  want  to  find,  ye  bawlin' 
heathen,"  and  the  answer  was  followed  with  a 
string  of  oaths  which  made  the  cheeks  of  the 
women  blanch. 

"Fasten  her  on,  wimmin !  Sade,  you  and  Jen 
Coney  do  th'  tyin,  an'  do  it  t'  stick."     Judy  had 


114  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

now  passed  the  compromise  line.  There  was  to 
be  no  more  trifling.  Into  the  water  Snags  must 
go. 

"O  we'll  tie  her  good  an'  proper.  We've  been 
to  th'  horse  shed  an'  have  th'  ropes." 

It  was  no  holiday  task  to  tie  the  desperate 
woman  as  she  writhed  and  kicked,  and  cursed 
all  the  women  in  that  hill  country  and  the  old 
flag  and  everybody  that  believed  in  it.  But  in 
spite  of  all  her  screaming  and  vituperation  she 
was  securely  bound  to  the  beam,  like  a  martyr  to 
the  stake.  Three  or  four  women  threw  them- 
selves on  the  heavy  end  of  the  sweep  and  s^vung 
it  around  slowly  over  the  water.  Judy  Gans  left 
her  place  to  see  how  things  were  progressing ;  but 
no  sooner  had  she  removed  her  weight  from  the 
end  of  the  sweep  than  the  rest  of  the  women  let 
go,  and  the  end  of  the  sweep  dropped  with  a  tre- 
mendous splash  into  the  water  and  Snags  dipped 
down  and  out  of  sight. 

"Swing  'er  out,  wimmen',  she's  had  enough!" 
shouted  Judy,  winking  her  nose  like  a  rabbit. 

And  the  terrified  woman,  her  clothing  soaked 
through,  was  pushed  ashore,  sputtering  like  a 
porpoise,  the  water  streaming  from  hair  and 
hands  and  clothing. 

"Now   mebby   ye'll   confess,    Snags   Groucher." 

"I'll  n-n-never  c-c-cunfess  t-t-t'  nuthin'." 

"Drown  her ;  drown  her,  Judy.  Soak  th'  she 
traitor." 

"D'ye  hear  what  they  say,  Snags.     They'll  put 


THE  OLD  WELL-SWEEP  115 

ye  under  an'  keep  ye  there  if  ye  don't  tell  them 
th'  truth  about  last  night.  If  ye  want  to  live 
confess ;  ef  ye  don't  confess,  in  ye  go." 

"Put  me  in  ef  ye  want  to ;  put  me  under  an' 
keep  me  there;  but  I'll  n-n-never  g-g-go  back  on 
my  crowd." 

"In  with  her  ag'in,  wimmin.  Keep  her  in  a  bit 
longer  this  time." 

"Cool  her  off.     Soak  the  perfanity  out'n  her." 

"She's  earned  more'n  she's  gittin'.  In  with 
her." 

"She  might  as  well  end  her  days  at  the  end  o' 
a  well-sweep  as  at  th'  end  of  a  rope  or  th'  lim' 
of  a  tree,"  snapped  Sade  McQueen. 

"Weuns  don't  wanter  kill  anybody  jes'  yet. 
Keep  th'  sweep  a  movin'  there,  wimmin.  A  little 
more  weight  on  th'  butt  end,  please." 

"She  be  a  right  smart  bit  heavier  than  when  we 
dumped  her  in  th'  tother  time,"  chirped  Jen 
Coney,  as  the  pitiful  Snags  dropped  into  the 
water  the  second  time. 

"Now  swinger  out  ag'in,"  directed  Judy. 

The  women  bunched  themselves  on  the  end  of 
the  sweep ;  but  her  clothes  being  saturated,  the 
weight  was  too  heavy  for  them  to  overcome. 
They  tried  and  tried  again. 

"We  can't  raise  her !"  the  women  shouted  to 
Judy  Gans. 

"Some  more  o'  ye  throw  yerselves  onto  the 
beam,  there,  and  be  quick  afore  the  cussed  woman 
drownds." 


116  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

They  rushed  to  the  heavy  end  of  the  sweep  and 
threw  all  their  weight  upon  it,  but  the  water- 
logged burden  at  the  farther  end  was  too  much 
for  them. 

"Come  here  th'  rest  o'  ye.  Put  yer  shoulders 
against  the  beam  there  an'  push  with  all  yer 
might.  Bear  down  there,  ye  wimmin,  down  on  the 
butt  end.     Push,  everybody  !" 

With  hard  pushing,  some  of  the  women  in  the 
water  to  their  knees,  they  managed  to  shove  the 
sweep  with  its  limp  and  flabby  burden  ashore. 
The  last  spark  of  life  seemed  to  have  fled.  The 
women  were  frightened.  They  did  not  really 
want  to  drown  the  poor  creature.  They  were  all 
excited,  suggesting  a  dozen  things  at  once.  They 
tore  off  the  ropes  with  which  she  was  bound  and 
released  the  miserable  creature.  They  lifted  the 
sweep  from  the  pivot  and  threw  it  on  the  ground, 
placed  the  limp  and  gasping  woman  over  it,  face 
down,  and  tried  to  force  the  water  out  of  her 
lungs. 

"Open   her    collar,"   shouted   one. 

"Turn  her  on  her  side,"  suggested  another. 

"Give  her  a  pinch  of  liquor,"  called  a  third. 

"Try  her  with  a  bit  o'  snuff,"  yelled  Mother 
Mixy. 

"Throw  some  water  in  her  face,"  gurgled  Jen 
Coney. 

"B'gosh,  she's  had  enough  o'  water  fer  a  spell," 
giggled  Sade  McQueen. 

"Rub  her  laigs,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Dawson. 


THE  OLD  WELL-SWEEP  117 

Some  called  one  thing  and  some  another,  mean- 
while Judy  Gans  kept  winking  her  nose  and  keep- 
ing up  artificial  respiration  until  the  sorely  tor- 
tured woman  began  to  show  signs  of  life.  As 
soon  as  she  was  able  to  speak,  Judy  Gans  assumed 
her  former  role,  pretending  that  this  strangula- 
tion was  just  what  Avas  intended. 

"Now  maybe  ye'll  tell.  Who  burned  this 
house?" 

"D-d-dunno." 

"What'd  ye  do  with  Guy?" 

"Nawthin'." 

"She's  lyin'  ag'in,"  shouted  Sade.  "Hang  her 
this  time." 

"Wa'n't  Guy  an'  Selma  t'  home  w'en  ye 
burned  th'  house?" 

"Naw." 

"Aw,  she  burned  it.  She  burned  it!" 

"Ye  lie,  Sade  McQueen." 

Sade  bounded  toward  the  furious  woman  but 
was   intercepted. 

"She  just  said  Guy  and  Selma  wasn't  there 
when  the  house  was  burned,"  Sade  declared  ve- 
hemently. "How'd  she  know  they  wasn't  there  if 
she  was  not  there  herself?  If  she  knows  they 
wasn't  there  then  she  was  there  and  she  oughter 
be  hung." 

"Did  yer  see  Selma  last  night?" 

"I  told  ye  I  didn't.     Hush  yer  fool  questions." 

"Did  yer  see   Gyp  las'   night?" 

"Didn't  see  the  brat." 


118  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"She's  lyin'  ag'in.  He  didn't  Wcauken  ye  up  an' 
ast  ye  t'  cum  t'  help  'im  with  th'  dead  men  under 
th'  oak  trees,  did  he?"  sneered  Sade.  "Ye  didn't 
tell  'im  ye'd  kill  'im  if  he  didn't  go  home,  did  ye," 
she  taunted. 

"I  tell  ye  I  didn't  see  that  polecat  last  night." 

"An  ye  didn't  tell  'im  ye'd  set  th'  dogs  on  'im, 
did  ye?" 

"If  I'd  a  wanted  t'  set  the  dogs  on  'im  I'd  a 
done  it." 

Further  inquiry  was  interrupted  by  the  unex- 
pected arrival  of  Perk  Thompson  and  Sykes 
Snickerby,  who  had  taken  a  notion  to  run  down 
and  see  the  ruins. 

"What-why-who's  this  ye  got  here;  not  Snags 
Groucher?"  Perk  sputtered. 

"Hevings  be  praised!"  ejaculated  Sykes. 
"That's  what  I  call  a  speshul  providence." 

"Heep  providence  has  to  do  with  sich  as  you 
be!"  snapped  Snags,  as  she  glared  defiantly  in 
his  face. 

"Ye  got  away  from  us  last  night,  but  ye'er 
at  the  end  o'  yer  string  now.  We  have  ceased 
to  have  any  pity  fer  murderers." 

"Murderers  !     An'  who  hung  poor  Tom  ?" 

"I  helped  to,  and  we  did  it  because  he  was  a 
murderer  and  had  forfeited  his  life." 

"We  intend  to  clean  this  neighborhood  of  all 
home-burners  and  murderers.  Hereafter  there 
will  be  no  quarter.  They  are  to  be  shot  or  hung 
whenever  found.     War  knows  no  respect  of  per- 


THE  OLD  WELL-SWEEP  119 

sons,"  was  the  pitiless  conclusion  announced  by 
Perk  Thompson. 

"What  ye  been  a  doin'  with  th'  wench?"  Sykes 
asked  of  Judy. 

"Duck'd  her  in  th'  crick  t'  make  her  c'nfess." 

"Did  she  own  to  helpin'  to  kill  Guy  an'  th' 
Jennings  boys?" 

"She  won't  own  t'  nawthin." 

"We'll  jes'  keep  a  grip  on  Snags  until  a  few 
things  is  settled." 

"Where's  Gyp?"  Perk  inquired. 

"Up  to  Seloe's  burryin'  place." 

"Take  her  up  there  and  let  Gyp  answer  whether 
she  saw  him  last  night." 

"Don't  untie  her  hands.  She'll  scratch  3'er 
eyes  out." 

"Come  along,  Snags." 

Perk  took  one  arm  and  Sykes  the  other  and  led 
her  up  the  path  to  the  spot  where  Gyp  was 
sleeping. 

"It's  a  God's  mercy  that's  on  him,"  said  Judy 
to  Mrs.  Dawson,  as  they  saw  the  boy  lying  so 
peacefully  on  the  grave,  unconscious  of  all  the 
horror  that  was  going  on  about  him.  They  did 
not  like  to  awaken  him,  and  stood  at  a  distance, 
like  Hagar  in  the  wilderness.  But  as  soon  as 
the  men  came  up  with  their  captive,  Thompson 
said: 

"Wake  up,  Gyp."  The  boy  sprang  instantly 
to  his  feet  and  stood  for  a  moment  as  one  dazed. 
The  presence  of  so  many  people  at  first  fright- 


120  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

ened  him,  until  he  realized  that  they  were  his 
friends,  and  that  Snags  was  a  prisoner. 

"Gyp,  do  you  know  this  woman?" 

"That's  Snags." 

"Where  did  you  see  her  last?" 

"At  th'  winder  away  over  yander  where  my 
paw  was  killed." 

"She  says  she  did  not  see  you  last  night?" 

"If  she  didn't  see  me  it  was  kase  I  was  in  th' 
shadder  of  th'  house.  I  seed  her,  an'  she  heerd 
me,  an'  talked  t'  me." 

"What  did  she  say  to  you?" 

"She  ast  me  who  I  was,  an'  I  tol'  her ;  and  she 
said  fer  me  t'  get  out  o'  that  or  ther'd  be  an- 
other dead  man  under  th'  oaks." 

"How'd  she  know  there  was  any  dead  men  under 
the  trees?" 

"She'll  have  ter  answer." 

"What  else  did  she  say  to  you  when  you  were 
asking  for  mercy  and  help  at  the  dead  hour  of 
night?" 

"She  said  if  I  didn't  get  outa  that  she'd  sic 
th'  dogs  on  me,  an'  she  dropped  th'  winder  as  if 
she  was  agoin'  t'  do  it." 

"That's  enough.  Come  along,  Snags.  We 
know  all  about  yer  villainies :  how  ye  burned  Hank 
Hummel's  home,  and  planned  t'  capture  Conway 
afore  he  got  away  from  the  Stybright  home.  But 
ye  failed.     He  got  away  too  soon  for  ye." 

"Yes,"  said  Gyp,  interrupting,"  I  seed  her  a 
lookin'  through  our  winder." 


THE  OLD  WELL-SWEEP  121 

"They  tried  to  get  you,  too.  Gyp.  But  you 
left  with  Conway  one  day  afore  they  came ;  but 
they  burnt  yer  house  an'  killed  yer  paw.  They 
hung  the  Jennings  boys  who  happened  t'  be  in 
your  house  that  evening  when  they  came.  But 
Terbaccy  Tom'll  hang  no  more  men,  an'  Snags'll 
burn  no  more  cabins.  An'  there's  Jim  Habor 
and  Kernal  Maxwell  an'  a  few  others'll  find  out 
afore  long  which  is  th'  toughest — ther  necks  or 
the  lim'  of  a  tree.     Come  along." 


CHAPTER    XVI 
A  FIRE  IN  EDEN 

Hidden  among  the  trees  in  one  of  the  fairest 
portions  of  the  Rondolet  Valley  was  the  hospi- 
table home  of  Col.  Richard  Maxwell.  It  was  a 
quiet,  restful  place,  such  as  the  weary  long  for 
at  the  worn  end  of  life.  The  fine  old  mansion 
was  overshadowed  by  towering  pines  and  mimosa 
trees,  and  the  spacious  grounds  were  pillared  with 
primeval  oaks  and  mulberries.  Roses  bloomed 
along  graveled  walks,  and  the  greensward  smiled 
in  the  pleasant  riot  of  blue  and  white  violets. 
Honeysuckles  burdened  the  fences  and  aspiring 
ivy  climbed  the  great  columnar  oaks  and  swung 
in  airy  festoons  from  lofty  branches,  or,  ham- 
mock-like, joined  bough  to  bough  in  sylvan  reci- 
procity. 

About  this  luxurious  manor-house  the  moun- 
tains stood  eternal.  They  were  wooded  to  the 
summit,  except  where  the  toiling  mountaineers 
had  cleared  the  timber  and  reared  their  lowly 
habitations.  Along  the  rugged  slopes  there  were 
patches  of  red  earth  denuded  of  all  forest  glory, 
on  which  the  mountain  people  had  planted  their 
vines  and  orchards  of  peach  and  apple,  or  fields 
of  corn  and  cotton,  and  where  the  hardy  sons  of 

122 


A  FIRE  IN  EDEN  123 

toil  forced  from  the  sun-kissed  earth  a  poor  but 
honest  livelihood. 

Col.  Maxwell  sat  on  his  pleasant  piazza  gazing 
dreamily  over  his  pipe  into  tranquil  sublimity  and 
emptiness.  His  gaze  was  toward  the  sunset,  as  if 
he  were  bidding  that  great  placque  of  gold  a 
friendly  good-evening.  Already  the  green  hel- 
mets of  the  mountains  were  edged  in  crimson. 
The  clouds  over  distant  Thunder  Cliff  had  melted 
into  dissolving  islands  of  fire.  The  whole  horizon 
was  softened  into  orange  and  mist.  A  lone  senti- 
nel star  came  out  and  stood  over  the  mountain 
of  Melrose,  a  beacon  on  the  coast  of  a  better 
country. 

And  still  Col.  Maxwell  sat  hugging  his  pipe  and 
his  idle  fancy.  The  night  closed  in,  and,  like  a 
horrid  specter,  there  passed  before  his  vision  the 
memory  of  the  night  before  and  the  bloody  work 
in  which  he  had  been  engaged. 

"O  God!"  he  exclaimed,  jumping  to  his  feet, 
"that  a  scene  of  such  tranquillity  should  be 
marred  by   such   a  memory!" 

Then  he  paced  restlessly  back  and  forth  along 
the  piazza,  grinding  his  teeth  against  the  pipe- 
stem,  and  emitting  puffs  of  smoke  which  told  of 
the  deep  intensity  of  his  feeling. 

"What  insidious  disturbers  of  the  peace  these 
memories  of  ours  are!  Here  I  am,  owner  of  all 
this  magnificent  landscape,  all  this  beauty,  this 
evening  fragrance,  this  harmony  of  heaven  and 
earth  at  their  best ;  and  to  sit  here  in  the  glory 


IM  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

of  it  all  and  have  my  reveries  broken  by  the  intru- 
sion of  such  damnable  deeds  which  memory  keeps 
flaunting  before  my  vision  !  That  Stybright !  and 
those  Jennings  curs !  Served  them  right.  Why 
should  I  have  compunctions  of  conscience?  Bah! 
This  is  war.  And  all's  fair  in  war.  There's 
nothing  more  to  be  said.  Casuistry  has  here  no 
right  of  eminent  domain." 

He  sat  down  in  his  luxurious  armchair  and 
threw  his  feet  over  the  railing. 

He  was  a  loyal  southerner  with  scores  of 
slaves  and  smiling  acres.  He  loved  the  South. 
He  believed  in  the  war.  He  hated  every  man  who 
hated  the  historic  institution  of  human  slavery. 
War  was  war,  and  war  was  here,  and  foes  must 
be  crushed  wherever  found.  He  had  no  apologies 
and  no  regrets.  These  men,  he  mused  in  his  so- 
liloquy of  self-justification,  had  forfeited  their 
lives.  They  did  their  work  and  they  got  their 
wages. 

The  night  settled  around  him  as  he  was  thus 
complaisantly  justifying  his  part  in  the  previous 
night's  tragedy.  A  dark  shadow  passed  under 
the  mimosa  on  the  right  of  the  piazza.  Think- 
ing it  was  one  of  his  slaves  he  gave  no  heed  to 
it.  He  struck  a  match  and  held  the  blazing 
splinter  to  his  pipe.  It  was  fatal.  In  the  puff 
of  light  his  face  was  outlined.  Scarcely  had  he 
tossed  the  match  over  the  balustrade  when  two 
Winchesters  were  leveled  upon  him  and  Perk 
Thompson  demanded: 


A  FIRE  IN  EDEN  125 

"Hands  up!" 

"What's  the  meaning — !"  the  sentence  was  not 
completed.  A  gun  was  thrust  almost  into  his 
mouth  and  a  trigger  clicked.  His  hands  went 
up  just  as  Thompson  pushed  the  gun  aside,  and 
the  ball  that  would  have  blown  his  head  from 
his  shoulders  was  wasted  in  the  air. 

"Come  along,  Kernal,  'with  what  measure  ye 
mete  it  shall  be  measured  t'  you.'  " 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that — " 

"We  ben't  talkin',  Kernal,  we  be  a  doin' 
things,  as  you  was  last  night." 

"For  God's  sake—" 

"Hush  yer  perfanity.  Why  didn't  ye  call  on 
Gawd  last  night  when  ye  was  throwin'  th'  rope 
over  the  oak  lim'  fer  Stybright  and  the  Jennings 
boys.P  Ef  ye  be  such  a  friend  o'  Gawd's  he'll  give 
yer  a  chance  t'  explain  a  few  things  afore  long  an' 
ef  he  don't,  we  will." 

A  score  of  men  by  this  time  had  filled  the  lawn 
with  their  shouting :  "Remember  Guy  Stybright !" 
"Stybright  and  the  Jenningses !"  "Remember  the 
twin  oaks  and  what  we  found  there !"  "Don't 
fergit  it,  Kernal !" 

"Into  the  house,  boys ;"  shouted  Sykes  Snick- 
erby,  "as  he  had  no  respect  fer  home,  nuther  will 
we." 

Into  the  wide  halls  they  dashed,  spreading  like 
a  flood  from  right  to  left,  while  the  members  of 
the  household  fled  as  from  a  pestilence.  Maxwell 
was  flung  into  a  dark  closet  under  the  stairs  and 


126  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

the  door  locked  upon  him.  Two  of  their  num- 
ber stood  guard,  while  the  others  searched  the 
house  for  other  Confederates.  Finding  none, 
Mark  Dawson  turned  to  Sykes  and  said : 

"Nothin'  doin'  here;  where's  the  wine?" 

"The  wine  cellar !  The  wine  cellar !"  shouted 
Sam   Sharp,   "follow  me!" 

Soon  there  was  a  popping  of  corks  and  a 
sparkle  of  glasses  and  the  crowd  made  them- 
selves hilarious.  Col.  Maxwell  was  forgotten, 
save  by  the  guards,  who  watched  the  conviviality 
with  distrust.  There  was  uproarious  merriment 
over  the  easy  capture  of  the  Colonel,  and  Mark 
Dawson  and  Sam  Sharp  joined  in  a  clog  dance 
for  the  amusement  of  the  others.  In  the  midst  of 
their  merriment  the  burly  voice  of  Perk  Thomp- 
son called  from  the  hall: 

"Men,  let's  get  to  business !" 

"Yes,"  roared  Sykes  Snickerby,  "let's  get  this 
job  ofF'n  our  hands." 

"Now  fer  serious  business,"  Dawson  responded. 
"Hurry    up,    Perk." 

"Men,  bring  out  the  Kernal,"  Thompson  com- 
manded. 

The  lock  was  thrown  back  and  the  door  of  the 
closet  pulled  open  and  two  guns  were  leveled 
through  the  dark  entrance. 

"Come  out,  Kernal,  or  die  where  you  be." 

But  the  Colonel  did  not  respond. 

"Come  out,  Kernal,  d'ye  hear.?" 

Still  no  response. 


A  FIRE  IN  EDEN  127 

"Don't  shoot,  yet,  boys,"  directed  Thompson. 
"We  mustn't  be  balked  o'  the  hangin' — gotta  hev 
some  fun  out  o'  this." 

"Let  him  test  one  of  his  own  oak  limbs,"  sug- 
gested  Sam   Sharp. 

"Yes,  he  seems  to  be  rayther  fond  o'  oaks  and 
hemp,"  drawled  Dawson. 

"Kernal,"  shouted  Thompson,  "we  give  yer 
jes'  three  minutes  to  come  out." 

The  guns  were  still  drawn  to  the  shoulders  of 
the  guards,  ready  as  soon  as  Thompson  gave  the 
command. 

"One  minit's  gone,  Kernal." 

"Two  minit's  gone." 

"Guns  ready,  boys." 

"One,  two,  three,  fire !" 

The  guns  belched  their  terrible  charges  into 
the  dark  closet.  The  detonation  was  something 
terrific.  The  whole  house  thundered  with  the 
explosion.  Nothing  could  be  seen  save  a  wreath 
of  smoke  that  curled  up  from  the  entrance. 
There  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  under  the 
stairway. 

"Guess  ye've  did  yer  work  purty  good,  fellers ; 
don't  even  hear  him  kickin'  in  thar." 

A  candle  was  fastened  on  the  end  of  a  bayonet 
and  thrust  into  the  closet. 

Horrors  !     The  place  was  empty ! 

With  wild  eyes  and  chagrined,  desperate 
faces  the  baffled  men  pressed  into  the  doorway  and 
gazed  into  the  dimly  lighted  recess,  only  to  dis- 


128  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

cover  a  trap-door  by  which  their  captive  had 
dropped  into  the  cellar. 

"S'round  tli'  house  an'  th'  slave  quawtahs !" 
shouted  Thompson  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

"Shoot  any  man  down  who  attempts  to  break 
through  th'  lines,"  added  Snickerby. 

"Fire  th'  house !"  called  Thompson  in  stentor- 
ian tones.  "If  he's  in  it,  let  him  come  out ;  if 
he  stays  in  let  him  roast !" 

"All  I  want  is  another  chance,"  swore  Mark 
Dawson,  regretting  that  he  had  not  been  more 
successful  on  his  first  attempt  on  the  piazza. 

"INIatches !  matches !" 

"Away  with  your  matches.  Fling  th'  candles 
into  the  beds !" 

"Bust  his  ile  lamps  on  the  floors." 

"Let  him  feel  how  it  goes  to  have  yer  home 
burned  over  yer  head." 

The  flames  were  soon  bursting  through  the 
doors  and  windows,  and  the  old  trees  and  the 
night  were  lit  with  weird  and  awful  glory  and 
with  the  wickedness  of  man.  The  ivy  on  the 
tops  of  the  mimosa  trees  hissed  and  swayed  in 
the  heat,  the  green  leaves  crackled,  bent  up  and 
dropped  in  little  spits  of  fire  into  the  grass. 
The  whole  scene  seemed  to  ache  with  retribu- 
tion. The  blaze  of  that  splendid  old  manor- 
house,  with  all  its  treasures  of  art,  was  lit  by  the 
tinder  carried  over  from  the  Stybright  cabin ! 

"Wonder  how  th'  Kernal  likes  t'  play  a  losin' 
hand  at  his  own  game?"  Dawson  contemptuously 
sneered,  as  he  stood  in  view  of  the  cellar  door  in 


A  FIRE  IN  EDEN  129 

the  hope  that  the  smoke  and  flame  would  cause 
Maxwell  to  try  escaping  that  way. 

"Th'  Kernal's  gotter  stan'  by  his  own  logic." 

"Y'  heard  what  he  said:  'War  is  war?'  " 

"An'  that  Stybright  had  done  his  work  an' 
got  his  wages.     Well's  he's  gittin'  his,  all  right." 

"If  any  of  you  fellers  see  him,"  Perk  called, 
"shoot  him  on  the  spot." 

"Ther'll  be  no  arrest  this  time,"  muttered  Daw- 
son, nursing  his  chagrin. 

Following  the  instructions  of  Thompson  the 
roads  were  picketed,  also  the  outbuildings  and 
the  slave  quarters.  The  mortification  over  los- 
ing their  prisoner  when  they  had  him  so  success- 
fully entrapped  caused  them  now  to  forget  every- 
thing except  his  recapture,  dead  or  alive.  In 
their  frenzy  they  searched  the  slave  cabins,  ex- 
amined every  building  and  the  shadow  of  every 
tree  and  shrub.  By  the  light  of  the  burning 
dwelling  they  did  their  work  effectually ;  but  no- 
where was  Colonel  Maxwell  found.  He  had  either, 
as  they  supposed,  escaped  to  the  mountains  be- 
fore his  absence  was  discovered,  or  else  was  bur- 
ied under  the  smouldering  ruins  of  his  home. 

Meanwhile  Aunt  Dinah  lay  in  her  cabin  simu- 
lating sleep,  but  a  vision  passed  before  her  eyes 
of  her  "Ole  Massa"  plunging  through  the  lawn 
and  into  her  cabin,  and  out  through  the  rear 
door  to  the  mountains,  and  she  held  her  fat  sides 
and  chuckled: 

"Lawdy,   how   dem  white   trash  am   fooled." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AS  ONE  WHOM  HIS  MOTHER  COM- 

FORTETH 

Gyp  Stybright  had  no  part  in  the  proceedings 
at  the  Maxwell  manor  or  in  the  summary  execu- 
tion of  others  who  were  engaged  in  the  murder 
of  his  father.  Gyp  was  old  far  beyond  his  years ; 
old  in  courage,  in  strategy  and  in  that  ready 
grasp  of  things  which  amounted  almost  to  gen- 
ius. But  now  he  had  no  heart  for  these  inhu- 
manities which  were  shown  by  friend  and  foe 
alike.  His  spirit  was  so  crushed  that  it  was 
absolutely  alone.  It  seemed  out  of  touch  with 
all  things  about  him.  He  cared  only  for  rest, 
or  for  the  sweet  sympathy  of  one  who  had  felt 
the  bitterness  of  grief  and  found  the  way  of  con- 
solation. He  felt  that  an  awful  wrong  had  been 
done  him ;  but  the  feeling  in  his  heart  was  not  one 
of  retaliation  but  of  utter  emptiness  and  desola- 
tion. 

He  could  think  of  but  one  friend  whom  he 
really  longed  to  see,  and  that  was  the  sweet,  far- 
away maiden,  the  dip  of  whose  vanishing  oars  yet 
sounded  in  his  ears.  For  a  few  days  he  re- 
mained with  those  who  had  prepared  the  body  of 
his  father  for  the  last  untroubled  sleep.  But 
more  and  more  his  heart  yearned  for  the  gentle 

130 


AS  A  MOTHER  COMFORTETH     131 

Aida  far  over  the  cruel  mountains.  He  knew 
not  what  to  do,  and  he  knew  not  how  she  could 
help  him,  but  he  wanted  sympathy.  He  wanted 
love.  He  wanted  his  mother  back  from  the  grave 
on  the  green  terrace  above  the  ashes  of  his  home. 
He  wanted  his  father ;  but  he,  too,  lay  speechless 
in  the  uncompassionate  earth.  And  now  he 
wanted  Aida.  She  only  was  left.  He  felt  that 
if  he  were  only  with  her  his  heart  would  not  be 
so  empty.  The  world  was  so  big  and  he  was  so 
small.  The  mountains  were  so  great  and  majes- 
tic, but  in  all  their  mighty  strength  there  was 
no  help  for  him.  So  many  homes,  and  his  own 
in  ashes.  So  many  people,  and  now  all  of  them 
strangers.  Sympathetic  they  might  be,  loving 
too,  as  the  love  of  the  great  world  goes,  but 
when  the  heart's  dearest  kindred  are  in  the  earth, 
all  unresponsive  to  prayers  and  tears  alike,  how 
very,  very  cold  the  once  glowing  world  appears ! 
Whither  could  the  poor  boy  turn? 

In  all  this  empty  waste  there  seemed  but  one 
bright  spot  to  the  orphan  boy.  Had  he  known 
of  the  consolations  of  the  gospel  he  might  have 
looked  up,  but  now  his  dreams  were  beyond  the 
mountains.  Quietly  he  slipped  away  into  the 
great  forests  with  his  grief  as  his  only  companion, 
his  sense  of  misfortune  sometimes  rocked  into 
slumber  by  the  jeweled  hand  of  hope.  Over 
mountain  paths  he  toiled,  his  one  burden  the  sor- 
row that  he  bore.  The  birds  seemed  to  hush 
their  song  as  he  came  near,  and  the  dark  pines 


132  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

hung  their  boughs  low  as  if  in  neighborly  compas- 
sion. There  was  a  hush  in  the  cascades  whose 
waters  were  wont  to  tinkle  rhythmically,  like  the 
bells  on  the  robe  of  the  Jewish  high  priest.  They 
slipped  soothingly  as  if  to  lull  the  grief  of  their 
fellow  pilgrim.  Gyp  thought  he  had  never  seen 
such  a  quiet  world.  He  saw  a  great  eagle  spread 
its  wings  and  sail  far  out,  high  above  the  crystal 
thread  of  a  stream  that  wound  through  a  deep 
and  narrow  valley,  and  he  longed  for  such  pin- 
ions that  he  might  fly  away  somewhere  and  be 
at  rest.     But  whither? 

Aida  and  her  friends  heard  with  deep  and  ten- 
der sorrow  the  sad  story  which  he  brought. 

"You  are  welcome  to  our  camp,  my  poor  boy," 
said  Mr.  Moncure  kindly.  "We  will  take  care  of 
you." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  Where's  Conway,  the  Union 
soldier  I  brung  you.?" 

Gyp  felt  better  acquainted  with  him  than  any- 
one else,  and  he  wanted  to  tell  him  what  had  be- 
fallen the  home  which  had  once  entertained  him. 

"He  has  gone,  Gyp.  He  and  Hampton  have 
taken  their  chances  of  getting  through  to  the 
Northern  army." 

It  was  another  hope  crushed.  Aida  was  now  the 
only  one  with  whom  he  could  talk  freely,  and  she 
listened  with  tenderness  and  pity  as  he  rehearsed 
the  tragic  story  of  the  few  days  since  they  had 
parted.  Her  cheeks  were  white  and  scarlet  by 
turns.     Indignation    and   compassion   swept    her 


AS  A  MOTHER  COMFORTETH     133 

heart  as  one  wave  follows  another.  And  when 
the  men  turned  away  to  their  duties  she  went 
over  and  sat  beside  him  on  the  bench  by  the 
door. 

"I  know  how  you  feel,"  she  said  to  him.  "My 
mother  lies  far  away  under  the  green  grass  in 
the  garden  at  home,  and  my  little  brother's  grave 
is  by  her  side.  There  is  no  one  there  now  to 
water  the  flowers  or  train  the  myrtle  where  they 
lie.  My  old  home,  too,  is  gone.  At  least  I  sup- 
pose it  is  burned  long  ago,  and  I  can  sympa- 
thize with  you." 

He  raised  his  tear-dimmed  eyes  to  hers.  In 
all  his  life  he  had  never  seen  such  a  look  of  beau- 
tiful tenderness,  such  sweet  and  trustful  com- 
passion. If  angels  ever  look  through  the  eyes  of 
mortals  he  was  sure  they  were  looking  upon  him 
then.  He  gave  a  little  sob,  but  could  not  trust 
himself  to   speak. 

"Do  you  remember,"  she  said,  trying  to  cheer 
him,  "how  brave  you  were  that  night  when  you 
piloted  Mr.  Conway  all  alone  over  the  dark 
mountains .''" 

"Y-e-s,"  he  replied  hesitatingly  between  his 
sobs. 

"And  don't  you  remember  that  other  night 
when  there  was  not  a  star  in  the  sky,  when  you 
pressed  my  hand  and  left  me  on  the  dark  river, 
and  with  no  companion  started  back  home  on  your 
perilous  journey?  How  heroic  you  were  then. 
Don't  you  remember  it?" 


134  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"That  was  the  night  they  killed  my  paw." 

"And  do  you  recall  how  fearlessly  you  ran 
through  those  dangerous  forests  to  find  someone 
to  help  with  the  dead  men,  before  you  knew  that 
your  father  was  among  them,  or  whether  the 
dead  men  were  friends  or  foes?" 

"If  I'd  a  know'd  it  was  my  paw,  I'd  a  never 
left  'im." 

"But  in  the  kindness  of  your  heart  for  others 
in  misfortune  you  forgot  all  about  yourself. 
Now,  when  everything  is  so  dark  you  will  try 
again   to   be   brave,  won't   you?" 

"Aida,  this  is  difF'nt.  My  heart's  broke.  But 
if  you'll  help  me  I'll  be  as  brave  as  I  can." 

"I'll  help  you  all  in  my  power.  Gyp.  But  you 
know  a  young  girl  like  me  cannot  do  much  in 
these  awful  war  times  when  men  are  so  wicked." 

"Won't  they  ever  be  good,  like  my  maw  was?" 

"I  only  know  of  one  place  where  men  never 
cease  to  be  good." 

"Tell  me,  Aida.     Oh,  tell  me." 

"In  heaven." 

"That's  where  my  maw  is." 

"And  mine,  too.  It's  where  our  preacher  said 
all  the  good  go  when  the}-   die." 

"My  paw  didn't  use  t'  be  good ;  but  he  quit 
bein'  bad,  an'  I  know  he  must  be  in  heaven,  too." 

"If  he  is.  Gyp,  you  don't  need  to  cry." 

"I  wisht  he  was  here.  Paw  was  so  big  an' 
strong." 

"God'll  comfort  you,  Gyp." 


AS  A  INIOTHER  COMFORTETH     135 

"I  wisht  he  would." 

"He  has  sent  you  to  us,  and  papa  and  I  will 
help  you  all  we  can." 

"Did  he  send  me  t'  you,  Aida?" 

"I  think  so.     He  does  all  things  that  are  good." 

"Well  I'm  sure  he  did  good  that  time ;  I  couldn't 
a  found  anybody  what  would  a  been  as  nice  t' 
me  as  you  be." 

"And  then  papa  told  you  that  you  could  stay 
right  here,  and  make  your  home  with  us.  Now 
wasn't  God  good  to  you?" 

"How  did  God  send  me  here?  I  thought  I 
come  all  alone,  an'  nobody  ever  tol'  me  t'  come. 
I  jes  come  myself." 

"But  he  knew  that  you  were  in  trouble,  and  he 
put  it  in  your  heart  to  come.  That's  the  way  he 
does." 

"How'd    ye    find    it    all    out,    Aida.     I    never 
know'd  such  things." 

"My  mamma  used  to  tell  me  about  how  God 
would  take  care  of  me  when  she  went  away  to 
heaven.  And  he  has.  And  the  preacher  used  to 
tell  the  congregation  how  he  watched  over  a  great 
nation  one  time  and  led  them  by  a  pillar  of  fire  to 
a  beautiful  country." 

"I  don't  want  no  piller  o'  fire  under  my  head. 
It'd  burn  all  my  hair  off." 

"It  wasn't  a  pillow,  it  was  a  pillar  of  fire,  a 
sort  of  beacon  that  went  before  the  horses  and 
carriages  and  soldiers.  But  he  guides  us  all  some 
way.     He  won't  leave  one  of  us.     Don't  you  know 


136  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

that   the   little   birds    can't    fall   down   unless   he 
lets  them." 

"Well,  Aida,  if  he  looks  after  the  woodpeckers 
and  the  yallerhammcrs  don't  you  think  he'll  look 
atter  me?" 

"He  surely  will.  Just  stay  here  and  trust 
him." 

"Him  an'  you." 

"Yes,  we  will  both  be  your  friends,  so  don't 
cry   any  more.     Listen!     Did   you   hear   that?" 

"What  was  it  ?" 

"Sounds  like   a  woman's  voice." 

"It  be,  an'  they  be  runnin'  an'  a  comin  'this 
way." 

"What  can  it  be?" 

"Oh,  Aida,  it's  Snags.  It's  Snags,  an'  she's  got 
out." 

"Out  of  where?     Who  is  she?" 

"Snags  Groucher.  I  know  her.  She  helpt  t' 
kill  my  paw!" 

At  that  moment  the  furious  woman  dashed 
past  them,  never  looking  around.  Down  toward 
the  river  she  ran,  her  hair  streaming  on  the 
winds. 

"Oh,  Gyp,  the  boat!  the  boat!" 

He  understood,  and  the  two  leaped  from  their 
places  and  ran  in  pursuit  to  overtake  her  if  pos- 
sible before  she  gained  the  boat.  They  reached 
the  river  just  as  she  was  bending  over  the  skiff 
in  her  efforts  to  push  it  out  into  the  stream. 
Gyp  was  running  so  furiously  that  he  was  un- 


AS  A  MOTHER  COMFORTETH     137 

able  to  check  himself  and  ran  into  her  with  such 
force  that  she  was  knocked  headforemost  over 
the  boat  into  the  river.  She  dived  like  a  muskrat 
and  disappeared  coming  again  to  the  surface  half 
way  across  the  stream,  and  was  soon  swimming 
under  the  overhanging  branches  on  the  opposite 
shore. 

No  sooner  had  she  disappeared  in  the  woods 
than  Sam  Sharp,  Perk  Thompson  and  Mark  Daw- 
son reached  the  river  and  leaped  into  the  boat  and 
shoved  out  in  hot  pursuit. 

"How  did  it  happen,  Snickerbj?"  Mr.  Moncure 
inquired  later  in  the  day. 

"Ye  know  th'  confounded  creeter  war  confined 
in  that  ar  cabin  what  we  use  fer  a  prison.  An' 
th'  darn  grounhawg  climbed  up  th'  chimbly  an' 
got  on  th'  roof  an'  swung  out  on  a  lim'  an' 
jumped  t'  th'  ground  an'  run  fer  th'  water  like 
a  hawg  o'  Gadara." 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THE    STYBRIGHT    SCHOOL    OF    PHILOS- 
OPHY 

These  mountain  vigils  gave  to  Gyp  and  Aida 
a  common  purpose,  and  they  entered  with  zest 
into  any  exploit  that  threw  them  into  each  oth- 
er's company.  Gyp  was  characterized  by  rugged 
honesty  and  innocence  and,  withal,  a  quaint  orig- 
inality, an  artlessness  and  a  genuine  manliness 
which  attracted  Aida  from  the  first  time  they 
met ;  and  there  was  in  her  the  sweetness  and  cul- 
tivated grace,  the  charm  of  manner  and  the 
gift  of  conversation  which  made  her  the  admira- 
tion of  the  whole  camp.  This  won  the  love  not 
only  of  the  orphan  boy,  but  of  everyone  who 
knew  her.  To  him,  however,  she  seemed  a  most 
wonderful  creature,  the  most  beautiful  and  fas- 
cinating he  had  ever  looked  upon.  During  these 
days  they  were  much  together,  and  the  days 
seemed  more  charming  because  of  it. 

As  they  rambled  through  the  woods  or  over 
the  great  heights  or  stood  alone  on  some  prom- 
ontory looking  away  over  wondrous  landscapes 
of  quiet  valley  and  winding  stream,  dull,  slant- 
ing roads  and  the  green  webs  of  outlying  mead- 

138 


SCHOOL  OF  PHILOSOPHY  139 

ows,  patches  of  orchards,  homesteads  and  dimin- 
utive mountains — looking  as  Moses  the  servant 
of  God  looked  from  his  blue  Pisgah  over  the 
land  of  promise — they  were  building  temples 
more  enduring  than  ever  stood  on  Mount  Zion 
or  the  Acropolis.  Neither  of  them  in  these  bliss- 
ful, self-centered  days  thought  much,  if  indeed, 
at  all,  of  what  the  future  held  for  them.  The 
tonic  of  the  mountain  breezes  brought  the  roses 
to  their  cheeks  and  gave  them  all  the  vigor,  elas- 
ticity and  abounding  hopefulness  of  youth.  In- 
visible hands  were  toiling  at  the  inner  temples, 
and  "there  was  neither  hammer  nor  axe  nor  any 
tool  of  iron  heard  while  they  were  building."  Na- 
ture was  silently  shaping  her  ideals. 

Gyp's  ready  hands  constructed  a  rustic  bench 
in  one  of  their  sylvan  retreats,  and  to  this  de- 
lightful resort  they  often  came,  spending  long 
hours  in  happy  fellowship,  making  odd  devices 
out  of  moss  or  bark  or  wild  flowers.  Not  far 
away  there  were  cool  rocks  where  ferns  abounded 
and  a  thread-like  stream  unraveled  itself  from 
some  hidden  spool  and  became  tangled  among 
grasses,  and  mosses  and  jeweled  the  maidenhair 
ferns  by  its  side.  Here  birds  rocked  themselves 
to  sleep  in  the  depths  of  pleasant  trees  or,  cra- 
dled in  their  cup-like  nests,  sang  their  luUabys 
to   their  dreaming  young. 

"Aida,"  Gyp  inquired  as  they  sat  one  day  in 
their  cozy  bower,  "Hev  ye  ever  been  t'  th'  schools 
where  they  hev  books  an'  larn  things?" 


140  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Yes,  Gyp,  I've  been  to  school  nearly  all  my 
life  until  we  were  driven  from  home  by  this  cruel 
war." 

"Well  I  wisht  I  c'd  go,  so's  I'd  know  things 
an'  c'd  use  langvvidge  like  you." 

"Gyp,  you  do  know  a  great  many  things. 
Why  I  just  envy  you  your  knowledge  of  trees 
and  brooks  and  birds  and  all  sorts  of  creeping 
things.  You  can  find  your  way  out  of  any  part 
of  the  mountains  like  a  bee." 

"But,  Aida,  bugs  an'  things  can't  make  me 
talk  fine  an'  han'le  langwidge.  A  bug's  a  bug, 
but  langwidge  is  dif'nt." 

"You  have  learned  from  observation,  and  I 
have  only  learned  from  books,  so  you  are  even 
with  me." 

"Some  way  I  can't  see  through  things.  I  see 
things  an'  they  be  away  beycnt  me,  an'  I  don't 
know  th'  meanin'  of  'em,  an'  I  can't  think  'em  out. 
It's  like  gettin'  lost  in  th'  woods  an'  ye  can't  find 
th'  way  back." 

"And  who  is  there  that  does  not  get  lost  when 
he  tries  to  think  out  the  things  around  him? 
Why,  Gyp,  I  just  don't  know  anything  at  all. 
I  havn't  begun  to  learn  yet." 

"But  you  see  things  an'  say  things  so  nice; 
but  when  I  tries  to  think  'em  out  my  mind  gets 
all  snarled  up  like  a  ball  o'  yarn  an'  I  don't  know 
how  t'  untangle  it.  It  be  jus'  like  a  big  cloud 
what  don't  know  whar  it's  gwine  to,  an'  jus' 
swirls    aroun'    an'    aroun'    an'   gets   blacker    and 


SCHOOL  OF  PHILOSOPHY  141 

blacker  all  th'  time,  an'  then  begins  t'  thunder  an' 
lighten." 

"We  all  learn  as  we  grow  older  and  our  mind 
becomes  clearer.  When  the  Avar  is  over  maybe 
you  can  go  to  school." 

"Oh,  but  I'd  like  to  get  eddycation  so's  I  c'd 
keep  things  cleared  up  in  my  mind,  jus'  as  maw 
uster  clear  th'  coffee  by  puttin'  eggs  in  it." 

"And  that's  just  what  I  want  to  do  by  and  by, 
go  to  school  and  get  wise  and  know  things  and  be 
able  to  talk  like  my  dear  old  teacher." 

"But  ye  beenter  school,  Aida,  an'  ye  air  wise 
an'  has  bu'ful  langwidge.  I  wisht  I  know'd  all  ye 
know  an'  c'd  say  things  so  powerful  nice." 

"Now,  Gyp,  I'll  tell  you  what  let's  do :  I'll  teach 
you  what  I  know  as  well  as  I  can,  and  you  teach 
me  what  you  know  about  insects  and  birds  and 
wild  game  and  the  highways  and  byways  of  the 
rabbits  and  squirrels  and  the  striped  chipmunks 
and  gophers.      Is  it   a  bargain?" 

"Oh,  that'll  be  powerful  nice,"  then  after  a 
pause:  "but  I  don't  know  much  about  them  crit- 
ters." 

"And  I  don't  know  much  about  school  teaching, 
so  we  are  even.     But  we'll  have  a  school." 

"Where'll  we  hev  it.?" 

"Right   here,   and   right   away." 

"How'll  we   start  it." 

"You'll  be  Professor  of  Natural  History,  and 
I'll  be  Instructor  in  Any-Thing-You-Like — rhet- 
oric, grammar  or  orthography." 


142  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"I  don't  know  nuthin'  about  them  things. 
Never  seed  any  of  'em  on  these  mountings." 

"But  I'm  going  to  teach  you.  You'll  be  my 
pupil  and  I'll  be  yours,  and  we'll  just  have  the 
funniest  school  you  ever  heard  of." 

"When's  school  t'  begin?" 

"Right  now.     Ring  the  bell." 

"Ha'n't  got  none." 

"Well,  hunt  around  and  get  something.  You're 
the   teacher,   remember." 

"There  ha'n't  nothin'  here  that'll  ring,  Aida." 

"I'll  tell  you :  take  this  stick  and  hit  that  rock 
over   there  three  times." 

"What  fer?" 

"To  call  books." 

"But  books  won't  come  fer  callin'." 

"No  they  won't ;  but  that's  to  be  our  bell,  and 
when  it  rings  school  will  begin." 

Slash !  slash !  slash !  and  the  rock  resounded 
with  the  thump  of  Gyp's  stick  until  the  little 
stream  quivered  and  wondered  what  was  doing 
among  the  young  people. 

"Now,"  Aida  proceeded  to  say,  "you  are  to  call 
the  school  to  order.  Rap  with  your  knuckles  on 
this  bench  and  then  I'll  sit  down  and  wait  for  you 
to  call  the  class  in  Natural  History." 

Gyp  rapped  according  to  directions,  and  Aida 
hung  her  bonnet  on  the  branch  of  a  tulip  tree 
and  took  her  seat. 

"Now  say :  'Class  in  Natural  History  will  take 
its   place.'"     No,   wait!      This    is    going   to   be   a 


SCHOOL  OF  PHILOSOPHY  143 

religious  school,  and  you'll  have  to  conduct  chapel 


exercises." 


"What's  them?" 

"Why  chapel  exercises  mean  that  you've  got  to 
open  this  school  with  prayer." 

"I  didn't  know  that  a  school  was  like  a  can  o' 
jam  what  had  t'  be  opened  afore  y'  got  at  th' 
goodies." 

"Well  it  has,  Professor  Gyp  Stybright,  and 
you'd  better  just  hurry  up  and  pray  or  there 
won't  be  any  school." 

Gyp  got  down  on  his  knees  and  laying  his 
hands  and  head  on  Aida's  lap,  as  he  used  to  do 
on   his  mother's  knee,   said : 

" '  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 

I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep; 
If  I   should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take. 

"School's  open,"  said  Gyp,  rising  to  his  feet. 
"W'at  I  gotter  do  next?" 

"The  insect  class  is  now  going  to  be  heard. 
Mr.  Prof.  Stybright,  here  is  a  bug  which  flew 
into  my  lap  while  you  were  conducting  chapel 
exercises.  What  is  the  name  of  this  little  crea- 
ture, please?" 

"Bug?"  he  responded  interrogatively,  looking 
down  into  her  hands  which  she  held  together,  edge 
to  edge,  forming  a  dainty  little  bowl  in  which  the 
creature  was  vainly  seeking  some  avenue  to  lib- 
erty. "Lemmy  see:  That  air  is  w'at  I  be  callin' 
a  snappin'  bug." 


144.  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"A  what?" 

"A   snappin'   bug." 

"Why  do  you  call  it  that?" 

"Lemmy  show  yer."  He  took  the  wriggling 
thing  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger.  "Watch 
'im.      See  him  snap?     See  that?" 

The  insect  raised  its  head  and  brought  it 
down  with  a  quick  jerk  making  a  clicking  sound 
each  time.  This  it  repeated  as  rapidly  as  its 
bugship  could  go  through  the  motions. 

"That's  w'y  we  be  callin'  'im  a  snappin'  bug." 

"Where  does  it  live,  and  what  does  it  do  for  a 
living?" 

"Lives  under  th'  bark  of  ole  rotten  logs  an' 
about  stumps  an'  under  fence  corners.  He's  a 
harmless  critter;  won't  bite  or  kick  or  git  into 
yer  hair.     Does  nothin'  fer  a  livin'  but  jes'  snap." 

"He  gets  the  snap  on  people,  doesn't  he?" 

"Yes,  he  do." 

"Well,  I  think  that's  school  enough  for  one 
day.     It's  time  for  intermission,  anyway." 


CHAPTER    XIX 

THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

So  passed  the  weeks  and  months,  and  one  event- 
ful day  Gyp  and  Aida  were  together  happy  in 
their  woodland  retreat.  They  were  now  one 
and  inseparable.  So  absorbed  were  they  in  each 
other's  company  that  they  did  not  notice  a  soli- 
tary horseman  making  his  way  along  the  distant 
valley.  Only  a  field-glass  could  have  told  whether 
the  far  off  rider  were  friend  or  foe.  The  horse 
was  a  light  bay  and  cantered  over  the  dusty 
road  at  a  lively  pace.  From  a  mere  speck  in 
the  distance  the  proportions  and  color  were  now 
clearly  distinguishable.  The  rider  swung  around 
a  curve  in  the  road,  crossed  the  bridge  over  a 
little  stream,  turned  the  shoulder  of  the  hill  and 
passed  out  of  sight.  He  came  again  into  view 
farther  up  the  mountain  side.  Patiently  yet  per- 
severingly,  he  came,  with  eager  glances  about  him, 
occasionally  lifting  his  field-glass  to  his  eyes  and 
scanning  the  hills.  For  a  little  while  he  stood 
outlined  like  an  equestrian  statue  on  a  distant 
summit,  his  glass  to  his  eyes ;  then  the  forests  shut 
him  off  from  view.  Yet  perseveringly  he  fol- 
lowed the  mountain  road  until  he  came  near  to 
the  place  where  the  young  lovers  sat  delightfully 

145 


14<6  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

absorbed  in  their  woodland  retreat,  oblivious  of 
the  approach  of  friend  or  foe. 

The  traveler  paused  as  he  heard  their  mirth 
and  chatter,  then  quietly  urged  his  horse  a  little 
nearer.  Glancing  through  the  foliage  he  recog- 
nized them  as  the  children  of  his  enemies,  friends 
of  the  North  and  enemies  of  the  stars  and  bars. 
He  had  seen  Gyp  before,  and  Aida,  he  was  sure, 
was  the  daughter  of  Richard  Moncure,  one  of 
the  ring-leaders  in  this  nest  of  "liers-out."  He 
remembered  the  face  of  the  girl  as  the  one  he 
had  seen  that  day,  long  months  ago,  when  he  and 
Terbaccy  Tom  served  the  notice  on  her  father 
the  evening  before  he  fled  from  his  home. 

The  rider  was  Jim  Habor,  as  cruel  and  relent- 
less as  ever.  The  blood  still  burned  in  his  veins 
against  the  followers  of  the  old  flag,  and  when 
he  discovered  who  these  happy,  unsuspecting 
young  people  were  a  wild  and  wicked  thought  took 
possession  of  him.  He  thought  he  saw  a  way 
by  which  this  camp  of  mountaineers  might  be 
wholly  suppressed.  He  would  capture  Aida  and 
Gyp,  carry  them  within  the  Confederate  lines 
and  hold  them  as  hostages  under  threat  of  death 
until  ]\loncure  and  his  men  would  throw  down  their 
arms  and  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  Con- 
federate standard.  The  more  he  thought  of  it, 
the  more  his  daring  spirit  rose  to  the  occasion. 
He  determined  that,  live  or  die,  he  would  risk  it. 

But  to  capture  them,  single-handed,  and  make 
off  with   them  was   no  easy  matter.      Besides  he 


THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK  147 

knew  not  how  near  their  friends  might  be;  and 
a  failure  to  capture  either  one  of  them  might  de- 
feat the  whole  plot  and  bring  an  armed  posse 
down  upon  him  before  he  could  make  good  his 
escape.  But,  he  mused,  what  good  is  Gyp?  He 
has  no  friends  who  would  care  where  he  was. 
His  capture  would  accomplish  nothing;  but  to 
take  Aida  and  leave  him,  ah,  there  was  the  danger 
to  his  success.  He  would  shoot  Gyp  and  carry 
Aida  away !  No  one  would  mourn  the  little  ras- 
cal if  he  now  leveled  his  gun  and  laid  him  to  sleep 
among  the  leaves.  Let  the  robins  cover  him  as 
they  did  the  babes  in  the  wood.  He  has  no 
friends  who  would  throw  down  their  arms  to 
ransom  him.  Then  let  him  rot.  Ah,  but  the 
sound  of  a  rifle !     That  would  defeat  him. 

Unexpectedly  to  him  the  difficulty  adjusted 
itself.  As  his  malignant  eyes  peered  like  a  wolf's 
through  the  foliage  he  saw  Gyp  lean  over  and 
whisper  something  to  the  beautiful  girl  by  his 
side,  and  heard  him  say : 

"Good-bye,  Aida,  I'm  goin'  t'  th'  lookout.  I'll 
be  back  as  soon  as  I  see  ther's  no  danger,"  and 
he  took  his  gun  and  disappeared  among  the 
trees. 

The  road  up  which  Habor  had  come  winds  up 
the  face  of  the  mountain  like  the  graceful  curve 
of  a  swan's  neck.  The  red  earth  gives  it  the 
color  of  the  fields  themselves ;  and  because  of 
this  peculiarity  it  is  locally  known  as  "The  Red 
Swan's  Neck."     When  the  trees   are  denuded  of 


148  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

their  leaves  the  suggestiveness  of  the  comparison 
is  most  apparent.  The  cleared  field  at  the  edge 
of  the  woods  and  this  bare,  crooked  highway,  ris- 
ing from  one  end  of  it,  presents  a  most  striking 
resemblance  to  a  swan.  It  was  around  this  tor- 
tuous grade  that  Habor  had  climbed  to  where 
this  terrible  opportunity  now  confronted  him. 

Aida,  with  a  piece  of  needle-work  in  her  hands, 
was  all  unconscious  of  her  peril. 

No  sooner  had  Gyp  disappeared  than  Habor 
straightened  himself  in  his  saddle,  drew  in  his 
reins,  and,  with  his  open  palm  patted  his  faith- 
ful steed  and  spoke  to  her  softly  as  a  mother 
might  croon  to  her  babe.  The  fiery,  impulsive 
creature  seemed  to  understand  the  will  of  her 
master,  and  to  be  in  accord  with  it. 

"Do  your  duty,  Nelly,"  he  whispered,  as  he 
pressed  his  heels  against  her  flanks.  She  stepped 
forward  as  softly  as  if  the  brown  leaves  were 
wool  beneath  her  feet.  The  snapping  of  a  twig 
caused  Aida  to  look  up.  Habor  dashed  his  spurs 
into  the  horse's  sides  and  sprang  at  one  bound 
to  where  she  sat.  Before  the  frightened  girl 
realized  what  it  all  meant  Habor  bent  from  his 
saddle,  caught  her  rudely  by  the  arm  and  lifted 
her  to  his  side.  He  then  turned  his  horse  and 
was  soon  out  on  the  road,  where  he  gave  the  ani- 
mal full  rein  and  she  bounded  away  like  an  ar- 
row from  the  bow. 

"Help!  Murder!  Save  me!"  shrieked  the  terri- 
fied girl. 


THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK  149 

Habor  laid  his  coarse,  ungloved  hand  over  her 
mouth  and  hissed  in  her  ear : 

"Hush !  None  of  your  nonsense !  No  harm 
will  come  to  you  if  you  be  quiet.  Be  still,  I  tell 
you !''  he  demanded  with  an  oath. 

"Help  !  help  !  help  !"  she  shrieked  until  the  echo- 
ing hills  sent  back  the  cry. 

Habor  could  not  prevent  her  shrieks.  He  had 
but  two  hands,  and  one  was  needed  to  guide  his 
furious  steed  and  the  other  to  hold  this  kid- 
napped and  terrified  girl  in  the  saddle.  The  horse 
dashed  down  the  road  at  a  frightful  pace  while 
Aida  sent  her  wild  cry  among  the  cliffs.  Gyp 
heard  the  first  cry  of  alarm,  and  glancing  under 
the  branches  of  the  trees  saw  a  fierce  man  in 
grey  lift  the  struggling  girl  to  his  side  and  gal- 
lop away.  He  raised  his  rifle  to  shoot,  but  it  was 
too  late.  Rider  and  steed  in  one  momentary 
flash  of  color  passed  from  his  view.  He  was  hor- 
rified, and  heard  nothing  but  the  vanishing  cry, 
growing  fainter  and  fainter : 

"H-e-l-p  !  h-e-l-p  !  h-e-lp  !" 

The  young  rifleman's  thoughts  were  as  quick 
as  the  flight  of  the  kidnapper.  He  saw  the  di- 
rection taken  and,  leaping  toward  the  highway, 
prayed : 

"Gawd  help  me,  and  I'll  save  her!" 

He  saw  the  horseman  start  down  the  sinuous 
way,  which  lay  a  great  g  on  the  mountain  side. 
Across  the  first  steep  semi-circle  he  bounded  as 
one  leaping  for  life.     He  plunged  down  the  slope, 


150  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

crashing  through  underbrush,  and  like  a  wild 
chamois  among  its  native  rocks,  leaping  ten  feet 
or  more  at  a  bound.  Clearing  rocks  and  fallen 
timbers  at  peril  of  instant  death  he  came  in  sight 
of  the  road  just  in  time  to  see  the  furious  horse- 
man dash  out  of  sight.  Aida,  endeavoring  to 
twist  herself  from  her  captor's  hands  threw  her 
head  backward  and  caught  a  momentary  glimpse 
of  Gyp  as  he  stood  with  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder 
ready  to  fire.  She  thrust  her  white  arm  toward 
him  and  cried: 

"Save    me !    Save    me !" 

He  dared  not  shoot.  She  was  in  direct  line 
and  the  ball  to  reach  Habor  must  pass  through 
her  body.     In  a  moment  they  were  out  of  sight. 

"Gawd  help  me  an'  I'll  ketch  him  on  th'  next 
turn !" 

He  ran  across  the  road  and  at  one  bound 
landed  far  down  the  mountain  side.  Aida  did 
not  hear  his  hopeful  exclamation.  But  she  re- 
membered that  she  had  a  penknife  of  her  fath- 
er's in  her  pocket.  She  slipped  her  hand  under 
the  folds  of  her  dress  and  worked  the  blade  of 
the  knife  open.  She  little  dreamed  of  the  conse- 
quences of  what  she  was  about  to  do,  and  as  little 
cared.  Tragedies  were  not  new  to  her.  She 
grasped  the  handle  firmly  and  her  teeth  ground 
together  as  she  made  one  savage  lunge,  intend- 
ing to  sever,  if  possible,  an  artery  in  the  captor's 
wrist,  never  pausing  to  consider  what  the  result 
might  be  if  she  succeeded.     She  missed  her  mark 


THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK  151 

but  struck  the  bridle  reins  severing  them  from 
Habor's  hands.  The  severed  reins  fell  among 
the  horses'  fl3"ing  feet  where  they  snapped  and 
cracked  like  the  lashes  of  whips. 

"Whoa,  Nelly!  whoa!  whoa!  wh-o-a !"  Habor 
coaxed,  realizing  the  impending  peril  to  both  at 
that  awful  pace. 

"Wh-o-a,  lady ;  softly  now ;  wh-o-a,  good  Nelly, 
whoa-wh-o-a." 

Then  he  felt  the  sharp  sting  of  the  blade  in 
his  arm  as  Aida  made  a  second  thrust  at  him. 

"Curse  your  infernal  knife,"  and  he  caught 
her  hand  and  rudely  wrenched  it  from  her  grasp 
and  flung  it   away. 

For  once  the  faithful  steed  refused  to  obey  her 
master's  will,  and  now  that  the  reins  were  loose 
and  all  power  of  restraint  gone  she  plunged  down 
the  steep  grade  more  furiously  than  ever.  Trees 
and  rocks  flashed  past  them  and  the  overhanging 
boughs  seemed  to  sing  in  their  ears  or,  striking 
their  faces,  cut  like  sharp  wires,  while  the  shrieks 
of  Aida  and  the  curses  of  Habor  Avere  added  to 
the  resounding  thunder  of  the  flying  hoofs. 
Whipped  by  the  reins  which  dangled  among  her 
feet  and  crazed  by  the  pain  of  Habor's  spurs  the 
furious  beast  flung  herself  forward,  feet  front  and 
rear  almost  on  a  level.  Her  eyes  were  fire.  The 
foam  flew  from  the  bridle-bit  and  the  blood 
dripped  from  her  hot  flanks.  Her  ears  were 
thrown  back  and  her  head  thrust  forward  until  it 
seemed  to  rest  on  her  outstretched  legs,  her  mane 


152  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

blowing  like  the  spray  of  rain  from  the  roof-cone. 
Uncontrollable  and  devil-haunted  she  seemed  bent 
on  the  destruction  of  both  captor  and  captive. 

Down  they  came,  swinging  around  the  short 
second  semi-circle  of  the  swan's  neck,  the  horse 
bending  inward  until  Habor  was  almost  torn 
from  her  back  against  the  steep  bank  of  the  road- 
way. Hatless  and  white  as  the  skirts  of  the  girl 
in  his  arms — skirts  now  stained  with  blood  from 
his  wounded  wrist — Habor  clung  with  one  hand 
to  the  pommel  of  the  saddle  while  that  shodden 
thunderbolt  bored  her  way  like  a  conical  shell 
around  the  red  highway.  Both  riders  were  silent 
now.  The  cheeks  of  each  were  white  as  snow. 
They  expected  that  wild  Mazeppa  flight  would 
land  them  before  God. 

As  the  terrible  animal  hurled  herself  around 
the  curve.  Gyp  fired,  but  the  wild  creature  never 
wavered  in  her  flight.  Habor  uttered  a  cry  of 
pain,  swung  to  one  side,  clasped  his  hand  upon 
his  side  and  seemed  about  to  fall  from  the  saddle, 
then  regained  his  position  as  that  palpitant  thun- 
derbolt hurled  herself  past  Gyp  and  disappeared 
in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Gyp  saw  the  outstretched 
hand  of  Aida  as  she  passed  and  heard  her  van- 
ishing cry: 

"Oh,  Gyp !  Gyp !"  .  . 


CHAPTER    XX 
THE  APPLE  WOMAN 

The  report  of  Aida's  capture  produced  the 
utmost  consternation  in  the  camp  of  the  loyalists. 
Col.  Moncure  was  dazed  for  a  time.  The  thought 
of  his  child  being  in  the  power  of  the  wicked  and 
relentless  Habor  made  him  sick  at  heart.  Gyp 
was  wild  in  his  excitement  and  almost  furious  in 
his  insistence  that  something  must  be  done  at 
once  to  rescue  her  from  the  villain's  clutches. 
Dawson  and  Thompson  and  Snickerb}^  and  all 
the  rest  of  them  urged  immediate  action.  There 
was  but  one  mind  in  their  councils.  At  all  haz- 
ards Aida  must  be  rescued. 

After  the  first  fury  of  the  awful  tidings  had 
passed  they  set  themselves  to  consider  the  sit- 
uation. Gyp  was  satisfied  that  his  rifle  shot  had 
wounded  the  Confederate  scout.  His  swaying 
in  the  saddle  after  the  shot  was  fired,  the  clasp- 
ing of  his  hand  on  his  side  and  his  unsteadiness 
for  the  moment  satisfied  them  that  he  must  have 
been  sorely  wounded.  As  a  consequence  one  of 
two  things  would  happen,  Aida  would  be  left  at 
the  nearest  camp  of  the  Confederates,  or,  pos- 
sibly, at  the  first  home  of  those  who  were  in  hearty 
sympathy  with   the   Southern   cause.     With  loss 

153 


154  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

of  blood  and  the  pain  of  a  possible  serious  in- 
jury the  flight  could  not  be  continued  far.  The 
first  thing,  therefore,  was  for  the  swiftest  riders 
to  follow  at  once.  Indeed,  if  the  wound  were 
severe,  the  girl  might  have  been  dropped  by  the 
wayside  and,  therefore,  all  the  more  need  of  haste. 

Perk  Thompson  and  Sam  Sharp  were  in  their 
saddles  before  the  conference  was  ended,  and  their 
flight  down  the  Red  Swan's  Neck  would  have 
done  credit  to  Habor's  spirited  bay,  Nellie. 
From  the  point  of  the  crags  the  little  group  stood 
watching  the  flight  of  the  two  horsemen.  They 
saw  them  come  around  the  bend  of  the  road  on 
the  crest  of  the  distant  spur,  a  moment  outlined 
against  the  peerless  blue  of  heaven,  then  a  cloud 
of  dust  from  the  red  scar  of  a  highway  and  the 
riders  disappeared  to  come  again  into  view  down 
in  the  valley,  then  over  the  bridge  and  away  by 
the  stream  until  they  were  but  specks  in  the  dis- 
tance.    A  vanishing  blur  and  all  was  lost  to  view. 

The  riders  thought  at  once  of  old  Bridget,  the 
apple  woman,  who  lived  alone  in  a  crude  shack  in 
a  secluded  nook  hidden  away  from  the  public 
road.  She  was  known  to  be  in  fullest  sympathy 
with  the  Confederate  cause.  It  had  been  known 
for  some  time  that  she  visited  their  camp  to  dis- 
pose of  fruit  and  toothsome  tidbits  of  cookery. 
To  her  home  the  horsemen  dashed  in  the  hope  of 
either  finding  Aida  or  of  gaining  information. 

The  old  woman  at  first  positively  refused  to 
tell   anything.     But  when   Thompson   threatened 


THE  APPLE  WOMAN  155 

immediate  hanging  for  being  in  league  with  the 
enemy,  she  promised  to  tell  all  she  knew.  She 
told  them  that  Habor  had  stopped  there  and  had 
asked  her  to  take  care  of  the  girl  for  a  few 
days.  But  she  had  only  one  room  in  her  miser- 
able abode  and  no  possible  place  where  the  cap- 
tive could  be  concealed,  and  she  did  not  dare 
take  charge  of  her.  She  confessed  everything; 
how  that  Habor  was  sorely  injured  and  was  bleed- 
ing profusely,  was  weak  through  the  loss  of  blood 
and  was  scarcely  fit  to  continue  his  flight.  His 
wound  she  had  dressed  as  well  as  could  be ;  his 
bridle  reins  were  gathered  up  and  his  trembling 
steed,  wet  with  sweat  and  white  with  foam,  urged 
on. 

Without  waiting  for  further  information  Perk 
and  Sam  leaped  into  their  saddles  and  were  off 
in  swift  pursuit.  They  reached  the  crest  of  jNIont 
Aloe  and  swung  around  its  summit  to  the  south- 
ern side,  and  there,  before  them  lay  a  most  won- 
drous vision — forests  and  valleys,  blue  streams 
and  cabin  homes,  orchards  and  many  fraternal 
mountains,  and  on  the  slopes  of  green  fields  far 
away  lay  the  camp  of  the  Confederates.  Thomp- 
son lifted  his  glass  to  his  eyes.  The  white  tents 
were  distinctly  outlined.  He  could  see  the 
horses  coralled  and  the  pickets  on  duty.  Then  his 
hand  trembled,  his  teeth  ground  together,  an 
oath  leaped  from  his  livid  lips,  and,  handing  the 
glass  to  Sharp,  he  exclaimed: 

"The  cursed  wretch !" 


156  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

Sharp  gazed  a  moment,  lowered  the  glass  and 
turned  to  Thompson,  the  hate  fairly  burning  in 
his  eyes. 

"It's  all  up.  Perk." 

"No  need  t'  ride  furder." 

"It  will  kill  Moncure." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.     It  will  stir  him  to  fury." 

"It  must  be  strategy  now." 

"We'll  hafter  go  back  an'  consult." 

Their  spirits  sank  as  they  turned  their  horses 
about  and  galloped  homeward. 

"What  next,  Sam.?" 

"That's  th'  question:  What  next.?"  was 
Sharp's  hopeless  answer. 

"One  thing's  sartin,  something  gottcr  be  done 
an'   done   at   onct." 

"We  gotter  git  inside  that  ar  camp,  somehow." 

"It  will  be  at  th'  peril  of  our  lives." 

"It's  life  fcr  life.  Perk,  life  fer  life." 

"And  th'  life  of  th'  girl's  of  more  value  than 
yourn  or  mine." 

For  awhile  there  was  silence  between  them  as 
they  rode  on  together.  Perk  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"An  idee,  Sam,  an  idee !  be  hevins  I  got  an 
idee." 

"Lemmy  hev  it." 

"Old  Irish  Bridget  must  git  Aida  out." 

"But   she's   on   their  side !" 

"That's   the   very   reason  why   she  must  serve 


us." 


THE  APPLE  WOMAN  157 

"How?     I'm  waltin'." 

"Well,  th'  fust  thing's  t'  git  th'  old  woman." 

"Then  what?" 

"Bridget  fust  and  plans  afterward." 

"Yer  hain't  a  supposin'  they'd  exchange  Aida 
fer  that  old  Irish  apple  woman,  be  you?" 

"No,  sir-ee.  They  hain't  sech  fools.  They 
wouldn't  exchange  Aida  fer  all  the  women  in  the 
county,  least  not  at  this  time.  We  must  get 
Aunt  Bridget  on  our  way  back  and  carry  her 
into  camp  and  then  make  our  plans." 

"It  won't  be  difF'cult  job  t'  git  th'  old  woman." 

"Well,  she's  jes'  gotter  be  got.  That's  all 
ther  is  to  it ;  an'  that's  th'  only  way  out  of  it 
that  I  see." 

The  horsemen  rode  up  to  Aunt  Bridget's 
shack.  She  was  sitting  by  the  door  with  a  basket 
of  apples  preparing  to  start  for  the  Confeder- 
ate camp. 

"Don't  yer  want  a  ride,  Bridget?" 

"Not  wid  the  loikes  av  yez." 

"O  come,  now.  We'll  give  yer  a  lift  on  yer 
way." 

"Divil  the  lift  wull  ye  give  a  body,  bad  luck 
to  yez.  It's  up  to  some  haythen  divilment  ye 
are.  I  can  see  it  in  the  bloody  eyes  ave  ye.  Aff 
wid  yez  an'  lave  a  poor  body  alone." 

"Sam'll  take  yer  basket,  Bridget,  an'  ye  can 
jump  up  in  front  of  me." 

"And  d'ye  think  it's  hankerin'  afther  yer  so- 
ciety,   I    am?     Yez'll    not    be    takin'    me    to    the 


158  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

camp  where  I'm  wantin'  to  go.     I  know  yez  well ; 
yer  not  that  sort,  ye  bloody  Unioners." 

"I'll  promise  ye,  Bridget,  we'll  see  that  ye  git 
thar  an'  no  harm  t'  ye." 

"That's  th'  livin'  truth,  Bridget ;  he's  not  lyin' 
t'  ye,"   Sam   added. 

"An  a  shwate  bit  av  a  crayther  I'd  be  ridin' 
through  the  mountains  wid  a  mon's  arm  aboot 
me.     Aff  wid  ye  fer  a  haythen  blackguard." 

"Ye  needn't  be  a  mistrustin'  us,  fer  ye  hev 
t'  come  along.     Y'  see  how  it  is,  Bridget." 

"I  see.  I'm  in  your  power,  an'  I'm  too  ould  to 
fight.  I'll  go  because  I  have  to,  bad  scram  to 
the  min  who  would  shtale  an  ould  body  loike  me." 

"Give  me  your  hand  an'  jump  right  up.  Sam'll 
take  yer  basket  an'  look  atter  yer  apples." 

Moncure,  Dawson,  Gyp,  and,  indeed,  the  whole 
camp  were  still  on  the  outlook  watching  for  the 
return    of   Thompson    and   Sharp. 

"O  Mr.  Moncure !"  cried  Gyp  excitedly,  as  he 
handed  the  glass  to  the  Colonel.  "They'r  comin' ! 
They'r  comin'!  an'  they've  got  Aida!  They've 
got  Aida!     I  seed  'em  comin'  down  th'  hill." 

Moncure  took  the  glass  and  looked  long  and 
eagerly ;  then  lowered  it  with  a  sigh. 

"It's  not  she.  Gyp.  They'r  bringing  a  woman, 
but  is  not  Aida.  They  have  evidently  not  found 
her,"  and  Col.  Moncure  turned  away  to  hide  his 
emotion. 

There  was  no  little  surprise  when  Thompson 
and  Sharp  returned  with  the  old  apple  woman,  a 


THE  APPLE  WOMAN  159 

haggard,  shriveled  crone,  instead  of  the  beautiful 
girl  who  had  been  carried  away.  There  was 
amazement  and  no  little  disgust  when,  at  first, 
they  saw  them  ascending  the  Red  Swan's  Neck 
carrying  the  bent  and  decrepit  woman  rather 
than  the  beloved  one  for  whom  they  had  been  so 
anxiously  waiting. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this,  Thompson?" 
Moncure  asked  with  no  little  sternness  but  more 
of  confusion  in  his  tone. 

"I'll  explain,  fer  we're  all  disapinted.  We 
came  to  this  old  woman's  shack  and  learned  that 
Habor  had  stopped  there  with  the  girl.  Habor 
wanted  her  to  keep  Aida  fer  a  few  days  ;  but  she 
would  not  because  she  was  afear'd.  Habor  is 
badly  wounded,  she  says,  an'  weak  f'm  th'  loss 
of  blood.  She  helped  him  dress  the  wound  and 
then  he  hurried  on  carryin'  th'  girl  with  him. 
We  rushed  away  on  th'  full  gallop  an'  when  we 
had  rounded  the  shoulder  o'  Mont  Aloe,  we  saw 
th'  camp  of  th'  enemy.  An'  while  we  were  lookin', 
what  did  we  see  but  Habor  rushing  in  through 
the  picket  lines  with  Aida  in  his  arms.  We  saw 
the  men  surround  her,  toss  ther  caps  in  th'  air 
an'  lead  her  away  t'  her  tent.  Then  we  re- 
turned to  Aunt  Bridget's  place  an'  arrested  her 
just  as  she  was  leaving  fer  th'  Confed'rate  camp." 

Moncure  and  Gyp  were  heartbroken  at  the 
report.  There  was  universal  sadness  and  dis- 
appointment. There  was  silence  for  a  moment, 
when  Moncure,  recovering  himself,  asked: 


160  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"WTiat  do  you  propose  to  do  with  this  old 
woman?" 

"She  must  secure  the  release  of  Aida !" 

"She?     How?" 

"That's  th'  question  now  to  be  decided." 

"What  have  you  to  suggest?" 

"Somethin'  after  this  sort :  You  know  she's 
been  in  th'  habit  o'  visitin'  th'  camp  almost  daily 
with  knicknacks,  gimcracks  an'  thingumbobs  of 
one  sort  an'  a  nuther  t'  sell  t'  th'  soldiers.  She 
has  th'  confidence  o'  them  people.  But  she  must 
be  made  our  friend  an'  go  inside  th'  camp  an' 
find  out  all  about  Aida ;  meet  with  her ;  speak  with 
her,  out  o'  hearin'  o'  th'  others,  of  course,  an' 
comfort  th'  poor  girl  with  th'  assurance  that 
help'll  come  soon.  Then  come  back  to  us,  tell 
us  what  she  finds,  an'  then  we  can  lay  our  plans 
fer  rescue.     Thet's  my  idee." 

Gratitude  shone  in  the  wounded  father's  eyes. 
His  heart  seemed  to  be  somewhat  eased  of  its 
great  burden  at  the  plausibility  of  Thompson's 
plan.  He  went  up  to  him  and,  grasping  him  by 
the  hand,  said: 

"Thompson,  God  bless  you ;  God  bless  you ! 
Sharp,  May  heaven  ever  be  your  friend.  I  don't 
seem  to  be  equal  to  this  great  calamity.  You 
know  she's  all  I  have.  But  come  now,  let  us  con- 
sult together,  for  we  must  act  at  once." 

"This  woman  must  be  bribed,"  said  Thompson. 
"We  must  make  it  worth  her  while  to  play  th' 
traitor.     That's  all  ther  is  in  it." 


THE  APPLE  WOMAN  161 

"I  will  see  her  at  once,"  was  Moncure's  em- 
phatic response.  "For  the  present  everything  de- 
pends upon  her." 

The  father,  weak  from  his  grief,  and  suppress- 
ing every  feeling  of  casuistry,  went  over  to  the 
little  cabin  where  Bridget  was  detained  and  said 
to  her: 

"Bridget,  you  and  I  must  get  better  acquainted. 
You  have  been  a  friend  of  the  South.  That  is 
your  right.  It  is  your  privilege  to  take  what- 
ever side  appeals  to  your  judgment  and  patriot- 
ism. You  have  your  beliefs  as  the  rest  of  us 
have  ours.  We  will  not  harm  one  hair  of  your 
head.  You  will  be  just  as  safe  with  us  as  with 
your  best  friends,  and  we  will  prove  to  you  that 
we  are,  indeed,  better  than  any  friend  you  have 
on  the  other  side,  if  you  will  do  what  we  would 
like  to  have  you  do." 

"Phwat  wull  ye  be  afther  havin'  me  do.?"  with 
stern  emphasis  and  flashing  eyes. 

"Nothing  harmful,  you  may  be  sure.  Listen 
to  me  a  minute.     You  know  Jim  Habor.?" 

"Faith  I  do  thot,  an'  a  brave  sojer  mon  he  is." 

"He  called  at  your  house  to-day  with  a  young 
lady?" 

"He  did,  Sor." 

"That  young  lady  was  my  daughter." 

"Praise  be !  But  she's  the  beauty :  as  foine  a 
little  leddy  as  I  ever  clapped  me  two  eyes  on." 

"Habor  carried  her  off  to  his  camp,  didn't 
he.?" 


162  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Thot  he  did,  wid  the  blood  shtramin'  from 
his  soide  where  some  crool  mon  had  shot  him." 

"Badly  wounded,  was  he?" 

"He  may  be  dead  afore  this  wid  the  pain  av 
him." 

"Now,  Bridget,  I  want  my  daughter  back,  and 
you  must  help  me  get  her." 

"The  saints  presarve  us !"  she  cried  with  up- 
stretched  hands.  "I'm  no  a  god  nor  a  gineral. 
She's  beyent  me  power,  Mishter  Moncure." 

"Bridget,  if  you'll  help  me  get  my  daughter  I 
will  give  you  one  thousand  dollars  and  place  you 
beyond  the  possibility  of  want  as  long  as  you  live. 
You  won't  have  to  sell  any  more  apples  or  work 
hard  as  you  do  now." 

"Great  hivins,  mon !  ye  talk  loike  a  king. 
Thot's  more  money  than  I've  seen  in  all  Ameriky." 
And  then  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "But  if 
they  foind  it  out  they'll  hang  me  to  the  rafters 
ave  me  shanty ;  an  phwat  gude's  a  thoosand  dol- 
lars to  an  ould  woman  wid  her  neck  in  a  schling?" 

"Bridget,  there's  not  the  least  bit  of  danger, 
if  you  are  discreet.  Those  people  over  in  the 
camp  all  know  you,  and  they  are  all  your  friends. 
There  is  not  one  of  them  that  will  ever  suspect 
you.  If  they  should  examine  you,  have  nothing 
suspicious  about  your  person,  and  you  will  be  all 
right.  As  soon  as  my  child  is  rescued  the  thou- 
sand dollars  will  be  put  in  your  hands.  You 
can  stay  in  our  camp,  if  you  wish,  till  the  war 
is  over,  and  I  will  then  take  you  north,  or  I  will 


THE  APPLE  WOMAN  163 

send  you  back  to  Ireland  to  see  your  old  home 
and  friends." 

That  last  remark  was  a  master  stroke.  At  the 
mention  of  her  old  home  in  the  green  Isle  the 
tears  came  into  the  old  body's  eyes.  It  had  been 
the  dream  of  her  life  to  get  back  to  Killarney. 
It  was  enough.  Moncure  had  conquered  with 
one  line.  All  the  wit  and  cunning  of  her  race 
would  be  at  his  service. 

"I'm  wid  yez,  Mishter  Moncure.  Wan  flag's 
as  gude  as  another  to  me,  when  me  heart  is  back 
in  ould  Oirland.     Phwat  do  yez  want  me  to  do?" 

"Take  j^our  basket  of  apples  and  go  to  the 
camp  just  as  you  intended  doing.  Act  as  you 
have  always  done.  Do  not  be  different  in  any 
way.  But  find  out  all  you  can  about  my  daugh- 
ter. See  her  if  you  can  without  awakening  sus- 
picion. Tell  her  for  me  to  keep  heart  and  be 
brave,  though  no  need  to  do  that,  for  no  braver 
girl  ever  lived,  and  come  back  to  us  this  even- 
ing and  report.  Gyp  will  take  you  on  horseback 
to  Mont  Aloe,  and  will  meet  you  this  evening 
after  dark  at  your  shack." 

"The  blissin'  av  hivin  be  on  yez  an'  comfort  yez 
for  yer  daughter.  I'll  see  her  if  I  have  to  choke 
the  sintry.  But  that's  a  bit  av  a  crack  I'm  havin' 
wid  yez.     I'll  be  joodishus." 


CHAPTER    XXI 
A  MOUNTAIN  MINE 

"They'll  not  send  us  an  offer  of  exchange," 
was  Moncure's  reflection  as  the  men  conferred 
together.  "They  will  wait  for  the  terms  to  come 
from  us.  The  distress  is  ours,  not  theirs.  They 
will  wait  till  the  anxiety  with  us  becomes  unendur- 
able." 

"But,  Kernal,"  Thompson  ventured,  "the  pur- 
pose o'  that  ar'  gang  beyond  Mont  Aloe  is  to 
suppress  our  camp,  an'  th'  sooner  th'  better, 
fer  them.  If  they  can  bring  us  to  terms  by 
usin'  Aida  they'll  do  it  'ithout  waitin'  fer  a  prop- 
osition f'm  us." 

"Would  they  expect  us  to  make  a  proposition 
to  throw  down  our  arms  and  take  an  oath  of  al- 
legiance to  the  Confederacy  in  exchange  for  a 
young  girl,  however  dear  she  may  be  to  us? 
They  may  hope  to  force  us  to  that  point  but 
they  will  not  expect  us  to  propose  such  terms." 

"Do  you  intend  then  to  wait?" 

"Not  one  moment  later  than  Bridget's  return. 
If  she  brings  any  definite  information  relative  to 
the  situation  on  which  we  can  base  action  we  will 
lay  our  plans  at  once.  You  saw  their  camp.  Is 
it  strong?" 

164 


A  MOUNTAIN  MINE  165 

"Not  more  than  fifteen  or  twenty  tents. 
Maybe  not  so  many.  And  its  only  a  band  o' 
bushwhackers    an'    gorillers." 

"If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst  we  will  attack 
them  in  the  night,  destroy  their  camp  and  rescue 
my  daughter." 

"Ther  might  be  danger  t'  th'  girl  in  a  night 
attack,  or  in  any  attack.     They'll  expect  it  an' 
prepare  for   it.     We'll  plan  when  Biddy   comes ; 
for  that  we  must  wait." 
"Well,  here  she  is  now." 
"News    fer   yez,   Mishter   Moncure." 
"What  is  it,  Bridget?     Is  Aida  safe?" 
"Yer  daughter's  in  the  camp  beyent." 
"Yes,  Kernal,"   Gyp  hurried  to   add,  "an   she 
saw  Aida !" 

"Thot  I  did,  an'  she's  in  a  noice  comfortable 
tint,  watched  over  be  a  woman  wid  the  name  o' 
Shnags !" 

"Great  hevings !"  roared  Thompson,  "It  hain't 
as  bad  as  that,  is  it?" 

"Can  it  be  possible !"  Moncure  added ;  "your 
first  intimation  filled  me  with  hope;  your  last 
declaration  is  enough  to  drive  one  to  despair,  or 
to  infuriate  vengeance."  His  fingers  clutched 
into  the  palms  of  his  hands  until  they  almost  bled. 
"That's  not  good  news,  Bridget.  We  could 
hardly  expect  anything  worse  than  for  her  to  be 
in  the  hands  of  that  revengeful  and  brutal  crea- 
ture." 

"Sure,  there  was  no  harrum  bein'  done  to  the 


166  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

girrul.  She  was  layin'  there  in  her  bunk  as 
peaceful  as  a  saint  at  her  prayers.  But  the 
saints  whin  they  pray  don't  lie  on  the  broad  av 
their  backs.  She  lay  there,  the  shwate  face  av 
her  shmilin'  on  yez  loike  the  bit  av  an  angel  she 
is,  sor." 

"Did  you   speak  with  her?" 

"Sure  for  you,  Mishter  Moncure,  I  did  thot. 
But  I  had  to  be  joodishus.  The  scowlin'  cray- 
ther  they  be  callin'  Shnags,  though  afore  the  war 
they  do  be  callin'  her  Molly  Groocher,  was  a 
listenin'  to  ivery  wurred,  an'  it  was  right  for  her, 
for  ye  will  raymimber  that  I'm  a  bit  rebel  whin 
I'm  in  thot  camp.  An'  I  had  to  invint  a  bit  av 
a  strategy.  I  looked  aboot  me,  an'  I  saw  no 
wathcr  in  the  tint.  Av  coorse  at  that  I  wanted  a 
drink ;  an'  I  up  an'  sez  I  to  Shnags,  sez  I,  sure  an' 
have  yez  a  bit  o'  wather  in  yer  tint  to  refrish  an 
ould  Oirish  woman,  knowin'  all  the  whoile  there 
wasn't  a  drap  in  the  hoose.  Ye  see  I  was  actin' 
joodishus.  'Naw,'  sez  she,  'but  if  yez'll  be  afther 
watchin'  the  wench' — ye  see  she  was  so  insultin' 
an'  the  shwate  baby  not  sayin'  a  wurred — 'I'll 
be  aff  to  the  shpring  an'  get  yez  a  drap  to  wet 
yer  whistle.'  Wid  thot  I  handed  her  a  big  roond 
apple  as  rid  and  shwate  as  iver  yez  clapped  yer 
two  jaws  on.  'An,'  sez  I,  'D'ye  see  thim  claws 
o'  mine,'  sez  I,  doublin'  up  me  fingers  loike  thot. 
'I'll  spile  the  beauty  o'  the  winch,'  sez  I,  'if  she 
begins  any  tantrums  or  foolishness  wid  me.'  An' 
wid  thot  Shnags  was  pleased,  an'  she  up  an'  aff 


A  MOUNTAIN  MINE  167 

to  the  shpring.  Thin  I  whishpcred  to  the  girrul, 
an'  sez  I,  'Be  aisy  wid  ye  now,  Aida.  Whist 
ye,  sez  I,  not  a  wurrid  o'  this  thot  I'm  tellin' 
yez,  or  be  St.  Patrick,  sez  I,  it's  death  till  both  av 
us,  an'  wull  ye  moind  thot?'  sez  I.  'Yer  father 
sint  me  to  yez.  Be  aisy  and  don't  fret,'  sez  I. 
'He  tould  me  to  tell  ye  to  be  brave,'  sez  I.  'He's 
prayin'  fer  yez,  an'  he'll  have  ye  out  o'  this 
cursed  place  afore  Sunday.  Whist  ye,  now  niver 
a  wurred,  or  be  the  saints  it's  all  wan  wid  the  two 
av  us ;  yez'll  be  kill't  an'  me  own  ould  neck'll 
shwing  fer  it.  An'  how,'  sez  I,  'would  this 
wrinkled  ould  thrapple  look  wid  a  halter  aroond 
it?'  An'  wid  thot  she  shmoiled  an'  said:  'Bliss 
ye,  Bridget,  an'  kiss  papa  for  me.'  But  I'll  be 
joodishus,  Mishter  Moncure ;  I'll  not  insist  on 
carryin'  out  yer  girrul's  insthructions,  but  to 
pacify  the  child  I  told  her  I'd  be  happy  to  carry 
out  her  wull  in  thot  mather." 

"Did  she  look  worn  or  distressed?" 

"She  looked  white  loike." 

"Was  she  injured  by  the  ride?" 

"Shure  she  made  no  complaint,  an'  I  didn't  ask 
her.  There  was  nothin'  wrong  wid  the  child  ex- 
cept bein'  tired  an'  narvous  loike." 

"How  about  the  camp?" 

"In  phwat  way,  Mishter  Moncure?" 

"Many  men  in  it?" 

"I  couldna  be  afther  tellin'  yez ;  but  I'm 
thinkin'  not  more  than  twinty  min,  an'  half  o' 
them  away  most  av  the  toime." 


168  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Where  is  Aida's  tent  located  in  its  relation 
to  the  others?" 

"D'e  raymimber  the  field  o'  Tim  Mecune?" 

"I  know  where  it  is,"  Snickerby  responded 
eagerly.     "I  used  t'  dig  coal  over  there." 

"Well  thin,  sor,  yez'll  be  raycallin'  the  place. 
The  tint  is  located  where  ye  took  the  coal  out. 
The  land's  fallin'  in  and  it's  left  a  sort  av  depris- 
sion  in  the  soide  av  the  hill,  a  sort  av  gully ; 
an'  a  bit  av  a  shtrame  comes  out  where  the 
moine's  tumbled  in.  Her  tint  is  joost  in  there, 
if  ye  wuU,  sor." 

"I  know  th'  place,"  Snickerby  answered,  ex- 
citedly'. "I  once  helped  to  put  out  coal  there. 
But  it  didn't  pay,  an'  we  gave  up  diggin'  on 
that  side  o'  th'  mounting,  an'  made  an  entry  on 
th'  other  side.  The  timbers  of  th'  platform  an' 
th'  ones  at  th'  entry  were  then  taken  around  to 
the  other  side  o'  th'  mounting  to  th'  new  openin', 
an'  th'  old  mine  fell  in  leavin'  th'  depression  which 
Biddy  speaks  of.     I  hev  an  idee !" 

"Indade  an'  it  makes  a  cozy  bit  av  a  place, 
the  place  where  the  gurrcl's  tint  is  sitchooated. 
It's  retoired  loike," 

"Jeerusalem  !  Jeerusalem !  I've  got  it,  Snick- 
erby ;  I've  got  it !"  exclaimed  Perk  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  jumping  excitedly  to  his  feet  and  slap- 
ping his  leg  with  vehemence. 

"Phwat  the  divil's  ailin'  yez !"  and  Bridget 
looked  at  him  in  amazement.  "Is  it  crazy  ye  are? 
or  is  it  fleas  or  wasps?" 


A  MOUNTAIN  MINE  169 

"Snickerby,"  roared  Thompson,  ignoring  the 
interrogations  of  the  apple  woman.  "You  know 
th'  inside  o'  that  mine?" 

"Every  foot  of  it ;  an'  I  know  what  yer  thinkin' 
about.  I  see  yer  pint,  fer  I  had  it  first.  Hal- 
lelujy!  We'll  have  that  girl  out  o'  that  hor- 
net's nest  afore  this  time  t'morrer !" 

"Explain  yourselves,  men.  I  don't  under- 
stand." 

"Why,  Kernal,  it's  as  clear  as  th'  moon.  Don't 
yer  see?  The  girl's  at  one  end  o'  th'  mine.  We 
can  go  in  at  th'  tother  end,  dig  through  an'  git 
'er !" 

"Hooray !  Yep,  yep,  yep  !  We'll  git  'er  out ; 
we'll  gitter  out ;  we'll  gitter  out  in  th'  mornin'." 
And  Perk  and  Sam  Sharp  executed  a  double  clog 
among  the  leaves. 

"Heaven  help  us !  But  are  you  sure  you  can 
trace  the  old  mine?" 

"Sure ;  ab-so-loote-ly,  Kernal.  I  know  every 
foot  of  it.  What's  t'  hinder  from  goin'  into  th' 
mine,  makin'  our  way  by  th'  light  o'  lamps  to  th' 
blind  end,  dig  through  into  th'  Johnnies'  camp, 
pick  up  the  girl  an'  bring  her  home?  Ye  see  they 
can't  foller  us  in  the  mine." 

"All  we  gotter  do  is  dig  through  that  ar  thin 
crust  into  the  gully  whar  Biddy  says  her  tent 
is,"  confirmed  Thompson, 

"It  looks  workable,  gentlemen.  We'll  try  it, 
and  at  once.  Get  your  picks  and  at  nightfall  we 
start." 


170  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Hooray,  an'  it's  now  fer  th'  game !"  shouted 
Dawson,  as  he  started  to  leave. 

"Wait  a  minute,  men.  There  are  a  few  things 
to  consider  before  we  start.  It  may  take  days  to 
dig  through ;  then  you  have  Snags  and  the  gang 
of  ruffians  to  contend  with.  We  must  carry  both 
picks  and  guns." 

"Th'  thing  can  be  done  in  a  few  hours.  It  all 
depends.  I  know  that  mine.  Every  foot  of  it. 
I've  worked  in  it  when  coal  was  put  out  just 
where  that  ar  tent  is.  I  helped  drive  the  entry 
f'm  th'  tother  side.     We  can  do  it,  and  we  will!" 

"Now  yer  talkin' !  That's  th'  way  t'  put  it. 
We  can  an'  we  will,  an'  we'll  get  right  at  it," 
and  Perk  started  for  his  pick  and  gun. 

"But,  men,  wait.  Let  us  complete  our  plans. 
Aida  ought  to  know  about  this,  and  be  ready  to 
join  us  if  we  succeed  in  getting  through." 

"Ther'  hain't  goin'  to  be  no  'if  in  this  plan. 
We're  a  gAvine  t'  git  thar." 

"But  if  we  should  break  through  into  the  tent 
suddenly  where  she  and  Snags  are,  and  perhaps 
others,  they  might  be  frightened  and  flee  into  the 
camp,  and  we  might  lose  the  day  at  the  very 
moment  of  success.  Let  the  plan  be  fully  ma- 
tured. Bridget,"  inquired  Moncure,  turning  to 
the  old  woman,  "do  you  think  any  of  the  Johnnies 
suspected  you  to-day?" 

"Niver  the  wan,  Mishter  INIoncure.  If  they 
had,  sure  I  wouldn't  been  here.  I'd  a  been 
roostin'  in  the  guard  hoose." 


A  MOUNTAIN  MINE  171 

"Do  you  think  that  you  could  go  again  and  tell 
Aida  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  us  if  the  earth 
should  give  way  back  of  her  tent?" 

"Whin  Mishter  Moncure  gives  the  wurred  I'm 
right  wid  yez." 

"Then,  Bridget,  get  away  a  little  earlier  to- 
morrow morning  to  the  camp,  tempt  Snags 
Groucher  from  the  tent,  and  while  she  is  out  tell 
Aida  of  our  plans.  If  you  fail,  everything  may 
fail." 

"An'  I'll  not  fail.  Trust  an  ould  Oirish  woman 
for  thot.  I'll  outwit  the  Shnags  crather,  an'  I 
will  be  joodishus.  Ye  have  me  han'  on  that, 
Mishter  Moncure." 

"Just  remember  dear  old  Ireland  and  keep  your 
wits  where  you  can  use  them,." 

"Sure  an'  I'll  see  Killarney  afore  the  snow 
flies,  or  me  name's  not  Biridget  O'Hallaran.  I 
love  th'  Johnny  byes,  an'  I  loves  yez  all,  now 
that  I'm  wid  yez,  but  oh,  you  dear  ould  Immer- 
ald  Isle !  An'  it's  now  yer  daughter,  Mishter 
Moncure.  Ye'll  see  her  th'  morrow,  rest  yer 
sowl,  gude  mon !  An'  I'll  be  afF  this  minute  an' 
get  me  baskets  ready  for  th'  mornin'." 

"And  the  rest  of  us  will  be  in  the  mine  before 
the  stars  come  out." 

It  was  late  the  following  afternoon.  Bridget, 
Aida  and  Snags  were  in  the  tent.  Snags  was 
loud  in  her  denunciation  of  "the  brutal  gang" 
of  mountaineers  who  had  hanged  her  friend  Ter- 


172  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

baccy  Tom,  and  would  have  hanged  her  if  she 
had  not  outwitted  them.  She  gloried  in  the 
escape  of  herself  and  Col.  Maxwell,  and  now  of 
the  capture  of  the  daughter  of  the  ringleader  of 
the  villainous  crew,  and  it  wouldn't  be  long  until 
she  would  see  the  whole  set  of  them  swinging 
from  some  good  hickory.  She  hoped  how  soon 
she  might  enjoy  the  sight. 

"An'  how  is  the  mon,  Habor?"  inquired  Bridget. 
"Too  bad,  Miss  Groocher,  thot  a  brave  sojer  lad 
loike  him  should  be  on  the  broad  av  his  back  wid 
a  bloody  woond  in  the  chist  av  him,  an'  him  a 
sufferin'  so." 

"He'll  get  well  all  right.  Then  woe  to  the 
gang  on  the  mountain  top !  He'll  give  that  snif- 
flin'  pup,  Gyp,  two  or  three  holes  as  good  as  he's 
got." 

"If  Gyp  had  not  been  afraid  of  injuring  me," 
Aida  asserted  in  defense  of  her  friend,  "your  Ha- 
bor, instead  of  lying  in  his  comfortable  tent,  would 
have  been  lying  on  the  broad  of  his  back  on  the 
Red  Swan's  Neck,  dead,  as  he  deserved  to  be!" 

"Hear  the  loikes  av  her.  Miss  Groocher;  did 
yez  iver !  She's  I'yal  to  her  daddy  an'  the  rist 
o'  them.  She's  not  subjooed  yet,  be  me  sowl," 
and  the  wink  which  Bridget  gave  to  the  captive 
maid  was  very  different  from  what  her  words  to 
Snags  implied,  but  which  the  young  girl  fully 
understood. 

"You  oughter  be  thankful  yer  livin'  'stead  o' 
complainin'  ag'n  the  man  who  might  have  dashed 


A  MOUNTAIN  MINE  173 

ye  to  pieces  when  ye  jabbed  him  with  yer  bloody 
knife."  And  Snags  snarled  like  a  wild  beast  on 
the  brave  girl.  "He  risked  his  life  t'  save  ye, 
ye  ungrateful  huzzy !" 

"Risked  his  life !"  Aida  scornfully  retorted ; 
"what's  a  man's  life  worth  who  shamefully  at- 
tacks unprotected  girls  and  runs  away  for  fear  of 
a  boy !  A  savage  Indian  would  have  been  more 
brave." 

"His  life's  worth  more'n  any  little  doll-faced 
wench  like  you !" 

"Evidently  he  regarded  his  life  worth  more 
than  his  honor  and  his  manliness.  He  has  put 
himself  on  a  level  with  savages,  while  Gyp  stands 
out  as  a  hero." 

"He  captured  ye  for  yer  good,  ye  huzzy !" 

"And  Gyp  shot  him  for  his  good.  Habor  did 
his  vile  work  and  now  he  is  reaping  his  wages." 

"And  you'll  git  yourn  afore  we're  through  with 
you,"  and  the  frown  on  Snags'  face  was  satanic. 

"Hist  ye,  now.  Phwat's  the  gude  o'  all  this 
blatherin'?  Yez  have  got  to  live  together  fer 
a  while,  an'  why  not  live  peaceable.''  Yez  have 
gone  far  enough,  the  two  av  yez.  Be  gude  an' 
heed  an'  ould  Oirish  body.  Yer  both  noice  bodies. 
I  say.  Miss  Groocher,  wad  yez  moind  goin'  doon 
to  the  tint  where  thot  gude  sojer  mon,  Habor,  Is 
an'  ast  him  if  I  could  be  av  any  hellup  to  him. 
Ye  see  I  don't  have  a  great  deal  to  occepy  me 
toime,  an'  if  I  can  be  av  use  tell  him  Bridget  is 
at  his  sarvice." 


174.  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"He  don't  know  yer,"  Snags  answered. 

"Be  hivins,  he  knows  me  well.  Sure  and  wasn't 
it  meselluf  that  he  was  after  askin'  to  take  this  bit 
av  an  inimy  whin  he  fled  wid  her  and  come  to  me 
hoose,  bleeding  loike  a  shtuck  pig.  An'  didn't  I 
bind  up  the  woond  av  him  an'  fix  his  bridle-reins, 
cut  by  this  darin'  yoong  thing  when  flyin'  doon 
the  moontain?  Ah,  Miss  Groocher,  there's  none 
that  he  knows  bether  than  Bridget  O'Hallaran. 
Tell  him,  and  he'll  raymimber.  Sure  I'd  loike  t' 
see  him,  an'  hellup  him,  if  me  sarvice  'd  be  wil- 
come." 

"Will  you  stay  with  this  impudent  creature 
while  I'm  gone?  Habor  asked  me  to  come  to  his 
tent  this  afternoon.  He  wanted  to  give  some  in- 
struction about  this  impertinent  thing.  May  be 
he  wants  to  marry  her !" 

"The  saints  presarve  him  if  he  does." 

"Will  ye  stay.?"  Snags  inquired. 

"Trust  me  for  kapin'  the  girrul  till  yez  coom 
back." 

Scarcely  had  Bridget  reminded  Aida  of  the  plan 
of  her  friends  for  her  rescue,  until  her  listening 
ears  heard  a  muffled  sound  which  she  recognized 
as  the  breaking  of  the  picks  through  the  earth 
back  of  the  tent. 

"Be  aisy  now,  me  shwate  leddy.  Don't  get  ex- 
cited. It's  yoore  friends.  Be  calm  an'  joo- 
dishus." 

Bridget  stooped  down,  raised  the  side  of  the 
tent  and  peeped  out ;  and  there,  grinning  through 


A  MOUNTAIN  MINE  175 

a  great  hole  in  the  hill  were  the  faces  of  Snick- 
erby  and  Judy  Gans. 

"All  ready,  Sykes?" 

"All  ready,  Bridget." 

Bridget  seized  a  knife  which  lay  on  the  bench 
by  her  side  and  slashed  the  tent  from  top  to 
bottom,  and  the  sides  fell  apart  showing  the  en- 
trance to  the  mine. 

"Jump,  Aida,  at  wance,  and  yoore  safe." 

Aida  sprang  through  the  opening  and  was 
caught  in  the  arms  of  her  father  who  smothered 
her  with  caresses  and  kisses.  Gyp  stood  by  wait- 
ing his  turn,  which  he  feared  would  never  come. 
Bridget,  without  waiting  for  her  baskets  leaped 
into  the  opening  after  Aida  and  was  royally  wel- 
comed. At  that  moment  Snags  returned,  and  see- 
ing the  tent  empty  and  the  side  rent  in  twain 
uttered  a  scream  of  alarm  and  turned  to  flee  for 
help,  when  Thompson  and  Sam  Sharp  leaped 
through  the  throat  of  the  mine,  seized  the  woman, 
thrust  a  handkerchief  into  her  mouth  and  dragged 
her  into  the  opening.  Once  safely  in  the  mine  her 
hands  were  tied  and  the  gag  removed,  w4th  the 
command  that  if  she  uttered  any  outcry  it  would 
be  immediately  replaced. 

"Remember,  Snags,  the  stiller  the  better.  But 
we'll  see  that  you  do  not  climb  up  any  more  chim- 
bleys." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  CAVERNS 

MoNCURE  and  his  band  had  their  headquarters 
in  a  rambling  structure  which  stood  drearily  a 
short  distance  beyond  a  ledge  of  rocks  which  over- 
looked a  narrow  plateau.  A  flight  of  steps  cut 
in  the  ledge  connected  the  two  levels.  The  build- 
ing was  old,  stained  by  storms,  but  was  appar- 
ently as  strong  as  when  erected  in  some  far  dis- 
tant time.  It  looked  as  if  it  had  been  smitten 
with  the  pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness  and 
the  destruction  that  wasteth  at  noonday.  Old, 
storm-beaten,  weather-worn,  it  determined  not  to 
give  way  to  the  ravages  of  time.  The  trees  about 
it  rose  stark  and  appealingly.  Their  leafless  arms 
craved  sympathy  for  some  great  misfortune  that 
had  overtaken  them  and  moaned  in  the  soughing 
winds  like  the  spirits  of  the  lost.  Over  the  walls 
a  gnarled  wistaria  climbed,  or  rather  clung, 
for  it  was  dead  as  the  ghostly  sentinels  that 
reared  their  skeleton  forms  nearby.  Honey- 
suckles clasped  the  inhospitable  fa9ade  and  hung 
dumb  and  marrowless  in  their  last  embrace.  Over 
the  stark  trees  the  wild  grape  once  climbed,  but 
there  was  now  neither  leaf  nor  blossom  nor  pur- 
ple cluster  in  all  their  disconsolate  vines. 

176 


THE  CAVERNS  177 

The  building  was  of  stone  and  had  long  ceased 
to  be  the  habitation  of  man.  When  it  was  built, 
why  or  by  whom,  no  one  seemed  to  know.  It  had 
evidently  been  a  castle  of  defense  in  former  times, 
but  had  been  abandoned  when  the  necessity  for  its 
use  ceased.  It  was  three  stories  in  height,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  the  first  floor,  there  was  no 
division  into  rooms.  The  entrance  was  from  the 
side  facing  the  ledge  and  opened  into  a  large 
apartment  with  stone  floor  and  concrete  walls. 
It  was  probably  used  in  time  of  war  as  a  mess- 
room,  and  was  so  used  now  by  Moncure  and  his 
men.  This  apartment  was  succeeded  by  a  tor- 
tuous outlet,  or  hallway,  narrow  and  dark,  which 
rambled  into  a  chamber  about  equal  in  size  with 
the  mess-room.  This  was  the  kitchen,  or  cook- 
room.  From  the  crooked  hallway  stalls  led  off' 
on  either  side  into  darkness  and  emptiness.  The 
second  apartment  was  dismal.  It  was  dimly 
lighted  from  embrasures  near  the  ceiling.  Other 
than  these  narrow,  oblong  openings  there  were  no 
windows. 

There  was  no  means  of  communication  between 
the  first  and  second  floors ;  but  a  spiral  stairway 
of  stone  ran  up  a  sort  of  enclosed  tower  built 
of  the  same  material,  and  passed  through  the  sec- 
ond to  the  third  floor.  The  second  floor  was 
entered  by  trap  doors  opening  from  the  third 
story  on  stairs  which  dropped  down  to  the  floor 
below.  There  were  three  or  four  of  these  stair- 
ways at  equal  intervals  along  the  east  side  of  the 


178  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

room.  These  flights  of  steps  could  be  raised  by 
weights  like  the  terminal  of  a  modern  fire-escape. 
About  four  feet  from  the  floor  a  line  of  em- 
brasures, or  slanting  portholes,  ran  around  the 
building.  The  floor  had  similar  openings  in 
various  parts,  so  that  riflemen  could  command  not 
only  all  approach  to  the  building;  but  should 
the  enemy  succeed  in  forcing  an  entrance  to  the 
lower  story  they  were  sure  to  be  shot  down  by 
marksmen  in  the  room  overhead.  In  times  of 
danger  all  entrance  to  the  third  floor  by  means 
of  the  stairway  was  shut  off"  by  a  stone  trap 
which  swung  to  its  place  by  means  of  tackle  and 
grapplers.  The  walls  of  stone  without  and  con- 
crete within  reduced  the  possibility  of  fire  and 
the  danger  from  musketry  or  arrows  to  the  mini- 
mum. This  second  floor  was  without  division  into 
apartments,  and  was  large  enough  to  accommo- 
date fifty  or  more  men. 

The  third  story,  like  the  second,  was  one  long 
room  extending  from  one  end  of  the  building  to 
the  other.  Here  were  blankets  rolled  up  and 
thrown  in  heaps.  Clothing  hung  on  the  walls  and 
boxes  of  ammunition  and  provision  were  dis- 
tributed here  and  there  without  much  system  or 
order.  Guns  were  stacked  in  the  corners  or 
rested  in  forked  brackets.  The  room  was  cold, 
dreary  and  inhospitable,  yet  in  the  event  of  an 
attack  a  place  of  almost  absolute  safety.  As 
a  final  safeguard,  a  tunnel  passed  from  the  third 
floor,  and  also  one  from  the  first,  back  into  the 


THE  CAVERNS  179 

side  of  the  mountain.  These  connected,  like  the 
two  arms  of  a  Y,  with  a  third,  and  this  in  turn 
communicated  with  a  subterranean  cavern  whose 
ramifications  and  exit  were  known  only  to  the 
little  band  themselves. 

To  this  early  war-time  structure  Snags 
Groucher  was  brought  by  Thompson,  Snickerby 
and  Judy  Gans. 

"Ther'll  be  no  climbin'  up  th'  chimbly  this 
time,"  Perk  began  by  way  of  reminder  to  the 
captive  woman. 

"We'll  put  her  underground  whar  she'll  be 
safe,"  Snickerby  added,  with  no  double  entendre 
in  his  remark. 

"D'3'e  mean  t'  bury  me  alive,  ye  gorillers?" 
and  Snags  looked  as  if  she  would  tear  them  both 
to  pieces. 

"Oh,  no,  weuns  gwine  t'  be  real  good.  Ye 
know  th'  Good  Book  says,  'Love  yer  enemies,'  " 
Jud}'  replied  with  audacious  irony,  "ye've  been 
so  sweet  an'  gentle  to  our  friends.  We'll  put  yer 
in  a  house  safer'n  any  king  ever  lived  in,  an' 
stronger," 

Snags  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  these  in- 
sinuations, tantalizing  rather  than  wicked.  But 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  go  to  the  stake  if 
need  be,  but  she  would  curse  them  in  the  flames. 

They  led  her,  blindfolded,  through  the  mess- 
room  and  into  the  dark,  crooked  conduit  and  out 
to  the  kitchen  end  of  the  fort.  At  the  northwest 
corner,  where  the  spiral  stairway  started  on  its 


180  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

mission  to  the  third  floor,  Perk  stooped  down, 
threw  back  a  sunken  bolt,  raised  a  door  and  threw 
it  against  the  wall.  The  opening  disclosed  a 
flight  of  stairs  leading  down  into  a  dismal  and 
gruesome  chamber.  A  lamp  burned  dimly  in  a 
niche  in  the  wall,  filling  the  place  with  a  sickly 
light  and  a  vile  odor.  Sykes  lifted  the  lamp  from 
its  niche  and  the  three  passed  across  the  chamber 
to  the  opposite  side.  Here  a  heavy,  creaking 
door  was  thrown  open  and  they  entered  the  tun- 
nel. It  was  cool  and  damp,  smelt  of  the  under- 
world and  was  pitch  dark  except  for  the  feeble 
light  which  Sykes  carried  in  his  hand.  This  pas- 
sageway, with  its  phantom  lights  and  shades,  led 
them,  after  a  few  windings,  into  a  wide  and  spec- 
tral cavern.  The  bandage  was  then  taken  from 
the  captive  woman's  eyes. 

"I'll  light  th'  lamps  fer  ye.  Snags,"  and  with 
that  Judy  Gans,  a  little  more  sympathetic  than 
formerly,  touched  a  match  to  a  large  oil  jet,  and 
then  to  another,  whereupon  the  whole  interior 
flashed  in  prismatic  and  scintillant  splendor.  The 
cavern  was  most  dazzling  in  its  beauty.  The  walls 
and  ceiling  blazed  with  indescribable  pyrotechny. 
Stalactites  glistened  everywhere  and  stalagmites 
glowed  like  mushrooms  and  tufts  of  strange  herb- 
age crystallized  and  gleaming  from  a  thousand 
angles.  White  cones  and  alabaster  columns, 
rosettes  of  porphyry,  masses  of  onyx  mixed  with 
curious  shapes  of  chalcedony,  tangled  masses  of 
scintillant  filigree  and  arches  of  short,  sharp  tusks 


THE  CAVERNS  181 

that  dripped  and  sparkled  like  stars.  The  star- 
tling beauty  of  the  scene  caused  the  group  of  in- 
vaders, captors  and  captive  alike,  to  stand  and 
gaze  upon  that  wonderworld.  Their  hard  na- 
tures seemed  to  soften  and  the  red  blood  of  war 
was  swallowed  up  in  the  alabastrine  purity  of  the 
scene.  All  were  compelled  for  the  moment  to 
suppress  their  hate  and  give  way  to  mutual  ex- 
pressions of  admiration.  At  length  Snags  Grou- 
cher  turned  to  Judy  Gans  and  said,  with  a  touch 
of  tenderness  in  her  voice : 

"Be  yer  goin'  t'  put  me  in  this  shinin'  place?" 

"For  a  spell." 

"I  won't  mind  it." 

"It's  what  we  be  callin'  Heaven's  Subway ;  but 
ther'  ain't  no  stick-an-mud-chimbly  fer  ye  V 
climb  out  by,  so  enj'y  yerself,"  and  Judy  wrinkled 
her  short  nose  and  smiled  like  a  pumpkin  on  hal- 
loween. 

Sykes  endeavored  to  break  into  the  amenities 
by  saying: 

"We'll  try  to  have  Habor  here  some  of  these 
days  t'  share  your  underground  heavin'.  It 
haint  good,  ye  know,  fer  a  woman  t'  be  alone." 

"Oh,  but  yer  kind,  ye  big  gawk!"  and  the 
woman  bowed  sarcastically. 

"You'll  find  a  chair  and  a  cot  over  there,"  said 
Judy  as  they  turned  and  lighted  themselves  out, 
leaving  the  captive  woman  to  her  own  reflections. 
Meanwhile  Gyp  and  Aida  had  broken  away  from 
Col.   Moncure   and  the  others  and  were   felicita- 


182  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

ting  themselves  in  each  other's  presence.  They 
tripped  down  the  stone  steps  on  the  ledge,  and, 
hand  in  hand  went  back  to  the  rustic  bower  where 
the  now  happy  girl  had  met  with  her  terrible  ex- 
perience. It  seemed  almost  an  age  to  them,  so 
wonderfully  do  the  hours  impose  themselves  upon 
us  when  the  heart's  grief  closes  other  inlets. 
Back  to  the  old  tr^^sting  place  they  went,  where 
once  again  they  seated  themselves  and  let  their 
souls  flow  into  one  roseate  channel  which  hope, 
sweet  hope,  carved  for  them  through  green  val- 
leys of  fellowship.  After  all  trial  has  for  us  all 
its  aftermath  where  heaven  comes  to  remind  us 
of  the  sweet  bliss  of  the  immortals. 

"Aida,  I'm  ten  years  older  'n  when  I  wus  here 
afore." 

She  looked  into  his  joyous  face  with  a  happy 
smile  and  said: 

"I  do  not  see  any  wrinkles  on  your  brow  or 
any  grey  hairs  on  your  head.  But  then  I'm 
older,  too.  I've  had  experience  enough  to  last 
me  a  lifetime.  But  I  never  was  so  happy,  so 
ex-quis-ite-ly  happy  as  now." 

"Wasn't  it  awful?" 

"I  aged  fifteen  years  on  that  Red  Swan's  Neck, 
and  if  the  ride  had  lasted  much  longer  I  would 
have  been  in  glory  giving  Methuselah  pointers  on 
longevity." 

"You  earned  heav'n  by  that  ride.  I  ain't 
much  up  on  the  glory  country ;  but  if  I  had  any- 
thing t'  do  'ith  th'  gates  up  thar  they'd  be  as  wide 


THE  CAVERNS  183 

open  fer  you  when  th'  time  comes,  as  Tim  Me- 
cune's  coal  mine  was  this  atternoon." 

"If  I  get  through  those  gates  as  safely  as  I 
got  through  the  mines  I  won't  need  to  worry, 
will  I,  Gyp?" 

"But  you  hain't  agoin'  fer  awhile.  I'll  hold  th' 
gates  so  jer  can't  get  in." 

"Would  you  deprive  me  of  heaven,  and  you 
pretend  to  think  so  much  of  me?" 

"I  do  think  so  much  of  ye ;  but  I's  g^vineter 
give  ye  yer  heaven  here,  if  I  can  get  a  hold  of  it 
myself." 

"Oh,  I'm  too  old  for  any  earthly  paradise  now. 
Look  into  my  face.  See  the  wrinkles  since  we 
were  here  last.  Why,  Gyp,  I  was  then  but  fif- 
teen. That  was  day  before  yesterday ;  but 
I  somehow  dropped  twenty-five  years  between  here 
and  Camp  Mecune.  I  said  a  minute  ago,  fifteen 
years,  I'm  sure  it  must  have  been  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  and  the  ride  was  less  than  an  hour." 

"I've  heard  o'  a  thousan'  years  bein'  as  one 
day,  an'  one  day  as  a  thousan'  years.  But  th' 
One  who  said  that  never  gets  any  older.  An' 
you'll  never  be  a  day  older  than  you  was  day 
afore  yesterday.  God  made  ye  an'  put  himself 
in  ye  and  ther'  won't  be  no  wrinkles  an'  grey 
hairs."  Gyp  was  somewhat  proud  of  his  learn- 
ing, but  remembered  he'd  heard  Mr.  Moncure  say 
something  like  it  the  day  before. 

"Oh,  what  a  terrible  heretic  you  are !  Well, 
Gyp,  I  lived  at  about  that  rate — a  thousand  years 


184  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

in    one    day — when    we    were    flying    around    the 
curves  of  that  fearful  highway." 

"Wasn't  ye  afraid  you  would  be  killed?" 
"Afraid?  No,  I  did  not  care.  I  felt  as  if  I'd 
rather  be  dashed  to  atoms  and  picked  up  as  star- 
dust  at  the  resurrection,  than  be  under  the  power 
of  that  awful  man  one  moment.  I  was  furious, 
but  not  afraid,  I  would  have  pulled  him  from 
the  saddle  if  I  could  and  gone  to  death  with  him. 
I  forgot  myself.  I  was  out  of  myself.  I  was  not 
I.  I  was  in  a  trance.  Whether  in  the  body  or 
out  of  the  body  I  could  not  tell,  and  I  did  not 
care.  I  was  an  abstraction,  with  not  a  feeling  I 
had  ever  known.  I  was  one  whom  I  had  never 
seen  before,  and  I  pray  God  I  may  never  see 
again.  If  there  is  such  thing  as  the  spirit  leav- 
ing the  body,  and  being  someone  else,  I  was  that 
one,  until  unnerved  and  prostrate  I  came  back  to 
myself  in  Irish  Bridget's  cabin." 

"What  if  I'd  a  shot  yer  when  I  fired  at  Habor." 
"Oh,  I'd  just  sprouted  wings  and  gone  up  to 
see  mamma  and  wait  for  you." 

"I'd  ruther  hev  ye  here.  Did  ye  see  me  afore  I 
shot?" 

"My  dear  boy,  I  did  see  you,  and  for  the  mo- 
ment it  brought  me  back  to  earth.  I  remem- 
bered you  and  papa,  and  I  called  till  I  thought 
my  lungs  would  crack  and  my  throat  fly  to  pieces. 
The  look  on  your  face  as  we  swept  past,  the  utter 
anguish  of  it,  set  all  my  feelings  to  mutiny  once 
more." 


THE  CAVERNS  185 

"Aida,  do  you  know  I  could  a  shot  him  dead 
if  I  hadn't  been  afraid  o'  hurtin'  you?  That's 
th'  reason  he  was  wounded  'stead  o'  bein'  shot 
through  th'  heart.  If  I'd  aimed  nearer  it  would 
a  put  you  in  danger." 

"At  that  moment,  Gyp,  I  would  rather  have 
been  shot  by  you  than  to  be  held  by  the  arm  of 
that  brutal  man." 

"I'm  awfully  glad  I  didn't  shoot  as  well  as  I 
could.  I  thought  I  could  wound  him  so's  he 
would  havter  let  you  go.  But  I  thought  a  world 
had  gone  out  o'  me  when,  'stead  o'  fallin'  f'm  th' 
saddle,  he  steadied  himself  and  dashed  away  'ith 
you." 

"Well,  it's  all  over  now  except  the  memories 
that  have  gone  into  my  soul  never  to  come  out 
again.  My  nerves  are  in  a  shocking  condition ; 
but,  thank  God,  I'm  here." 

"I'm  afear'd  it's  not  all  over,  Aida.  If  Habor 
ever  gets  well  there'll  be  trouble  fer  you  an'  me." 

"I  fear  it.  He  hissed  his  devilish  insinuations 
in  my  ear  when  his  bleeding  arm  was  about  me  and 
his  face  was  white  as  death." 

"We  must  both  be  on  our  guard." 

"We'll  not  be  caught  napping  the  next  time." 

"Was  Snags  good  t'  yer,  Aida?" 

"She  was  cross  and  hateful  and  swore  at  me 
and  threatened  to  throw  acid  in  my  face  if  I 
attempted  to  get  away." 

"Well,  she's  safe  now,  where  she  won't  bother 
anyone  till  the  end  o'  th'  war." 


186  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"And  there  was  Bridget.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad 
papa's  going  to  reward  her." 

"You  owe  your  release  largely  to  her." 

"And  to  yourself,  papa,  Thompson,  Sykes, 
Judy  Gans  and  all  the  rest  of  them." 

"I'm  so  happy  you're  back  again  on  this  bench, 
and  well." 

"After  this  I  think  I  can  be  a  better  Chris- 
tian." 

"An'  I'm  gwine  t'  be  better,  too.  If  I'd  a  lost 
yer,  Aida,  there  wouldn't  a  been  no  more  heav'n 
fer  me.  The  stars  would  a  gone  plum  out  an' 
I'd  a  died  like  a  young  hawk  blow'd  out  o'  th' 
nest." 

"Would  you  have  taken  it  so  hard.  Gyp?" 

"Aida,  I  hain't  got  nobody  in  this  world  but 
jes  you." 

"That's  what  papa  says,"  and  she  looked  into 
his  face  with  a  bewitching  smile. 

"He'd  a  got  over  it." 

"Don't  3^ou  think  you  would  have  for- 
gotten me  soon  if  I  had  never  come  back.-'" 

"Never.  I'd  a  gone  an'  hunted  up  your  grave 
an'  dug  down  beside  yer  an'  told  them  t'  cover  me 
over.  I'd  lie  there  fer  ever'n  ever  an'  never  want 
t'  waken." 

"Oh,  you  young  heathen ;  don't  you  believe  in  a 
resurrection?" 

"What's  that?" 

"Getting  awake  at  the  judgment  day." 

"I  don't  want  no  judgment;  an'  what's  th'  use 
o'  me  gettin'  awake  if  you  be  dead?" 


THE  CAVERNS  187 

"But  I'll  be  awake,  too." 

"That's  diff'nt.  I'd  git  up  mighty  quick  in  the 
mornin'  if  I  know'd  you  was  about.  But  if  you 
wasn't  I'd  jest  sleep  happy  knowin'  that  you  was 
down  thar,  too.  What  we  gwine  t'  do  when  th' 
war's  over?" 

"I'm  afraid  that's  too  far  oif  to  plan  for." 

"There's  nothin'  too  far  away  t'  plan  fer  if 
ye  want  it.  Say — what  was  that,  Aida?"  and 
both  stopped  to  listen  to  a  voice  calling  through 
the  woods. 

"It's  Bridget,"  Aida  responded,  "wonder  what 
she  wants?  There  she  comes.  What  is  it,  dear 
old  soul?     I  could  just  hug  you  to  my  heart." 

"Well,  yez'd  bether  be  careful  an'  not  get  the 
wrong  wan  in  yer  arrums.  Y'  look  shwate  and 
happy,  but  yoore  father's  afther  wantin'  to  talk 
wid  yez." 

"I  will  go  at  once.  Say,  Bridget,  won't  you 
give  me  that  old  log  cabin  of  yours  for  a  sou- 
venir?" 

"For  a  phwat?" 

"As  a  memento.  You  know  now  that  you're 
going  to  Ireland  you'll  not  want  it  any  more." 

"Thot  I  wull,  my  dear  girrul.  I'll  give  it  to 
ye  and  yoore  shwate  bye,  Gyp.  An'  yez  may 
shtart  hoosekapin'  in  it ;  an'  hiven  grant  yez 
lots  o'  little  Gyps." 

"Shame  on  you,  Bridget.  What  does  papa 
want?" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
MISS  LARUE 

Another  horseman  came  riding  up  the  tortu- 
ous highway  of  the  Red  Swan's  Neck ;  but  this  one 
carried  the  stars  and  stripes.  His  horse  was 
jaded,  but  he  urged  him  to  the  limit  of  his  speed. 
Waving  his  loyal  flag  he  called  to  the  moun- 
taineers who  were  eagerly  watching  his  every 
movement.  But  his  words  fell  short  of  their  des- 
tination. He  was  alone  and  there  was  no  fear 
of  a  surprise ;  besides  the  flag  that  he  bore  was 
his  security.  Up  the  hill  he  came,  the  pant- 
ing horse  wet  with  his  long  journey,  the  foam 
dripping  from  his  bridle  bits  and  his  distended 
nostrils  red  with  the  fire  in  his  heated  blood. 

"Victory  !  Victory  !"  cried  the  unknown,  wav- 
ing his  silken  banner.  "Lee  has  surrendered  and 
the  war  is  over.       Peace !     Peace !" 

"What!  the  war  at  an  end.?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  stranger,  "Praise  God 
from  whom  all  blessings  flow." 

Moncure  shouted  his  welcome  to  the  herald  of 
peace,  and  raising  his  hand  toward  heaven,  cried: 
"All  hail  the  power  of  Jesus  name !" 

Men  threw  their  guns  on  the  ground  and  their 
caps  into  the  trees  and  danced  over  the  grass  like 

188 


MISS  LARUE  189 

children  in  a  May-day  festival,  shouting  and  sing- 
ing the  "Star  Spangled  Banner,"  "The  Red, 
White  and  Blue,"  "Yankee  Doodle,"  and  other 
airs.  Bedlam  broke  loose,  and  everybody  was 
happy.  Then  Aida  took  up  the  patriotic  strains 
of  "Home,  Sweet  Home,"  but  she  had  not  pro- 
gressed far  until  tears  were  on  many  cheeks,  and 
she  herself  was  obliged  to  stop  in  the  midst  of 
the  song.  What  one  had  not  suffered  in  his 
home?  Gyp's  was  in  ashes.  Moncure's  and 
Aida's  was  long  since  a  ruin,  only  the  bleak  walls, 
windowless  and  ragged,  remained.  Judy  Gans' 
nose  winked  and  twinkled  furiously.  Nobody  had 
bothered  her  cabin,  and  she  had  installed  Snick- 
erby  as  a  protecting  a?gis — her  suffering  was 
purely  vicarious,  yet  she  wept  with  the  rest  of 
them.  "The  war  is  over !  The  war  is  over !" 
The  news  spread  like  wildfire  over  all  the  moun- 
tains and  in-to  every  camp,  fortress  and  strong- 
hold. Prison  doors  flew  open  and  pickets  were 
called  in.  Now  the  warriors  will  go  back  to  their 
homes,  lay  aside  their  implements  of  warfare,  for- 
get their  animosities  and  resume  the  arts  of  peace. 
There  was  rejoicing  on  both  sides  of  the  conflict, 
and  all  were  glad  that  the  terrible  days  of  frat- 
ricidal war  were  over. 

Gyp  was  the  first  to  leave  the  camp.  The  her- 
ald of  glad  tidings  brought  a  special  message  for 
him.  It  was  imperative.  His  uncle  had  died  and 
a  legacy  awaited  him,  but  upon  certain  condi- 
tions.    One   of   these   was   that   he   become   com- 


190  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

panion  and  helper  of  the  widow  in  her  grief  and 
feebleness.     It  was  with  great  reluctance  and  no 
little  sadness  that  he  bade  good-bye  to  his  friends. 
With    Aida    the    parting   was    peculiarly    tender. 
It  seemed  like  dropping  out   of  his  life   all  that 
gave  happiness  to  it.     As  he  had  said  to  her  once 
before,  she  was  all  that  he  had,  and  now  she  could 
not   even   tell  him  where  her  lot  would  be   cast. 
She   must  be  with  her   father.   North  or   South, 
but  which  of  the  twain  she  knew  no  more  than 
her   disconsolate    sweetheart.     He   was    therefore 
obliged  to  leave  without  knowing  where  her  ad- 
dress would  be.     He  was  glad  that  the  cruel  war 
was  over,  but  now  that  the  end  had  come  there 
was   for  him   a  crumbling  of  castles   and  a  con- 
fusion of  hopes  and  dear  anticipations.     All  his 
dreams  were  coming  back  to  him  and,  like  autumn 
leaves,    falling   dead    around    him.     Doubts    and 
misgivings  rushed  in  upon  him  with  nothing  tangi- 
ble anywhere.     Would  she  send  her  address?     If 
it  were  possible  she  would  do  so.      So  they  parted, 
a   grief  in   each  heart,   a   genuine   sorrow  which 
the  victory  at  Appomattox  could  not  allay.     It 
was  a  severing  of  natures  that  had  grown  to  be 
everything    to    each    other,    and    for    how    long, 
neither  knew. 

Gyp's  soul  sank  within  him  as  he  came  down 
the  red  highway  in  company  with  the  herald  of 
peace.  At  the  last,  turn  of  the  road  he  looked 
back.  Aida  stood  out  in  full  view,  her  handker- 
chief giving  quivering  puffs  of  encouragement  and 


MISS  LARUE  191 

occasionally  finding  its  way  to  her  eyes.  He 
paused,  and  in  spite  of  the  stranger  by  his  side, 
threw  a  kiss  backward.  Aida  returned  the  af- 
fectionate salutation  and  then  the  cruel  earth 
came  between  them  and  the  vision  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  great,  weltering  tide  of  time  and  change. 
Alas,  for  the  dreams  that  we  dream  and  the  castles 
that  we  build. 

No  one  could  have  been  more  tender  to  his  aged 
aunt  than  this  strong  young  man  fresh  from  the 
rugged  experience  of  the  camp  and  the  hardships 
of  civil  war.  He  did  everything  that  a  heart 
could  do  softened  by  tender  and  pathetic  experi- 
ences and  made  thoughtful  by  the  fact  that  this 
helpless  relative  had  lost  her  stay  and  strength, 
and  in  her  feebleness  and  grief  had  no  one  to  lean 
upon.  It  was  little  that  kind  hands  could  do. 
The  grief  over  her  great  loss  was  an  ever  abiding 
presence.  It  gnawed  like  a  vulture  at  her  bleed- 
ing heart  and  would  not  cease.  After  a  few 
months  of  unappeasable  heartache  she  gave  up 
the  struggle  and  went  to  join  her  companion  be- 
yond the  veil. 

The  following  years  passed  away  like  a  watch 
in  the  night.  Gryp  dreamed  his  dreams.  He 
builded  his  castles,  only  to  see  them  dissolve  at  his 
feet.  He  planned  for  a  future  when  Aida  and  he 
would  meet  again,  and  when  he  hoped  to  be  in  a 
position  to  give  her  a  home  worthy  of  her  beauty 
and  culture.  But  oh,  what  a  dense  tangle  and 
jungle  the  future  is!     Into  the  unknown  she  had 


192  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

slipped  like  a  meteor  from  the  midst  of  its  stars. 
But  surely  she  shall  not  be  forever  hidden! 
Surely  for  him  his  morning  star  will  rise,  but 
where,  or  when,  or  how?  Meanwhile  he  will  build 
into  himself  all  elements  of  strength.  He  will 
fit  himself  for  that  day,  for  come  it  must.  He 
must  not  presume  to  mix  his  illiteracy  with  her 
culture.  Meanwhile  the  years  are  passing,  and 
she  is  swallowed  up  in  the  vast  unknown  like  a 
jewel  dropped  into  the  sea. 

These  were  thoughts  that  harassed  and  tor- 
mented him,  at  turns  encouraging  or  filling  him 
with  despair.  The  day  of  this  insistent  reverie 
found  him  strolling  in  the  woods  through  which 
lay  the  open  highway.  His  attention  was  ar- 
rested by  a  layer  of  red  earth  alternating  with 
quartz  pebbles  and  flakes  of  glistening  mica.  He 
picked  up  a  handful  of  odd  stones  and  sat  down 
to  examine  them.  He  was  philosophizing  over  the 
similarity  of  the  quartz  and  an  arrow-head  which 
he  had  taken  from  his  pocket,  when  he  heard  the 
patter  of  hoofs  on  the  hard  roadway  behind  him. 
He  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  sound  and  saw 
a  lady  on  horseback  approaching.  He  thought 
he  knew  everyone  for  miles  around ;  but  here  was 
a  face  new  and  strange  to  him,  and  beautiful  as 
strange.  She  was  one  of  the  fairest  creatures  he 
had  ever  looked  upon.  Her  complexion  was  like 
the  quartz  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  but  there 
was  a  delicate  pink  in  her  cheeks  which  the  rose- 
quartz    had   not.     Her   eyes   were   like   flakes    of 


MISS  LARUE  193 

obsidian  and  her  lips  like  the  wild  azalea  blos- 
soms. From  her  jaunty  cap  a  cataract  of  dark 
hair  was  liberated  and  fell  in  torrents  on  her 
shoulders. 

Since  parting  from  Aida  on  the  Red  Swan's 
Neck,  Gyp  had  never  seen  anyone  so  beautiful. 
As  she  came  up  to  where  he  sat  she  reined  in  her 
spirited  steed  and  inquired : 

"Young  man,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  direct 
me  to  Lasuda?" 

Gyp  leaped  to  his  feet,  led  her  to  the  edge  of 
the  woods,  and  pointing  to  a  gash  through  the 
crest  of  the  distant  hills,  said: 

"Y'  take  th'  pass,  foUer  th'  road  an'  it'll  bring 
ye  there." 

"Then  I  am  all  right.  I  feared  that  I  had  lost 
my  way." 

"You  be  right  on  th'  way,  good  lady." 

"Thank  you  very  much.  I  have  been  out 
among  these  wonderful  mountains  seeking  pupils 
for  my  new  school  at  Lasuda,  and  I  feared  I  had 
missed  my  way  home.  Would  you  take  me  for  a 
schoolma'am?"  she  naively  inquired. 

"I  would  like  to,"  answered  the  young  man  with 
an  expression  of  countenance  which  conveyed 
more  to  the  teacher's  mind  than  Gyp  intended. 
She  was  amused  at  the  response,  but,  of  course, 
knew  nothing  of  the  deep  yearning  of  the  boy's 
heart  that  prompted  it. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  to  school?" 

Would  he!     Was  there  anything  in  this  world 


194.  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

that  he  would  rather  do?  Had  he  not  during 
these  past  years  been  doing  his  best  to  get  rid  of 
"we'ns"  and  "you'ns"  and  "his'ns,"  and  the  little 
chips  of  language  which  had  become  so  apparent 
ever  since  he  had  met  his  dear  Aida !  Now  the 
thought  of  an  education  abashed  and  confused 
him.  He  turned  the  pebbles  in  his  hand,  and, 
with  his  eyes  still  upon  them,  said  modestly : 

"I  have  alius  wanted  to  go." 

"Where  do  your  parents  live.'"' 

"They  be  both  dead." 

"Why,  that's  very  sad." 

"Paw  was  killed  by  the  g'rillers  and  is  layin' 
over  yander  on  the  mounting.  An'  our  home  was 
burned  an'  I  'spec'  my  maw  was  in  it.  But  I 
dunno.  I  allow  she  an'  paw  have  found  each 
other  afore  this." 

"My  young  friend,  you  have  had  sore  tragedies 
in  your  life.     Was  your  father  Union?" 

"Yessam.  There  never  was  but  one  flag  in  th' 
Stybright  cabin." 

"Oh,  you  are  Gyp  Stybright,  then?" 

"Yes,  an'  now,  too." 

"I  have  heard  of  you,  what  a  brave  young  man 
you  are,  and  have  been  in  the  perilous  times  of 
war." 

Scarcely  knowing  how  to  respond  to  this  com- 
plimentary allusion  to  himself,  he  turned  the 
quartz  pebbles  over  in  his  hand  and  hesitated. 

"You  had  great  times  out  on  the  mountains, 
years  ago,"  she  continued. 


MISS  LARUE  195 

"They  were  ter'ble  times ;  yes,  lovely  times !" 
then  Gyp  looked  confused  and  blushed,  while  the 
young  equestrienne  gave  a  rollicking  laugh  which 
rang  among  the  hills.  Gyp  looked  up  into  her 
face  wondering  why  she  had  laughed,  but  con- 
scious that  he  had  said  something  rather  am- 
biguous. 

"I  have  heard  that  you  are  interested  in  an 
education,"  she  said,  repressing  her  merriment. 
"I  will  be  delighted  to  have  you  for  one  of  my 
pupils.      Can  you  come.'"' 

"Indeed  I  can.      I'll  be  powerful  glad  t'  go." 

He  was  so  overjoj^ed  that  he  scarcely  knew  how 
to  act.  Two  or  three  times  the  pebbles  and  ar- 
row-head slipped  from  his  hand  and  were  picked 
up  and  toyed  with  in  utter  aimlessness  and  con- 
fusion. Do  we  wonder  .f*  Had  he  not  there  seen 
the  gates  of  a  great  opportunity  swing  open  of 
their  own  accord.'*  Was  not  life  about  to  re- 
adjust itself  agreeably  to  his  fondest  dreams  .^ 
Hope  was  coming  back  to  him  with  the  brightest 
garlands  on  her  brow.  The  young  man  was,  in- 
deed, "powerful  glad." 

The  fair  rider  turned  her  horse,  gathered  up 
her  reins  and  said  to  the  bewildered  boy : 

"Do  not  fail  me.  Gyp.  I  will  expect  you.  My 
name   is   Miss   Larue." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

Gyp  watched  the  retreating  figure  as  she 
dashed  down  the  road  and  out  of  sight.  His 
mind  was  in  a  delightful  tumult.  He  was  ecstatic 
over  what  was  in  store  for  him.  He  threw  his 
pebbles  into  the  ravine  and  thrusting  the  arrow- 
head into  his  pocket  hurried  away  to  communi- 
cate the  good  news. 

"But,  Gyp,  what  I  gwine  do  when  you  be 
gone?"  inquired  a  tall  rawboned,  dull-witted  fel- 
low-laborer named  Jay  Hanks,  on  learning  of 
Gyp's  plans  for  an  education.  "What  I  gwine 
do  'ith  no  one  t'  help  dig  th'  taters?" 

"Maybe  some  angel'll  come  to  your  help  as  she 
come  to  me,"  ventured  the  philosopher  of  the 
quartz  pebbles  by  way  of  possible  solution  of  the 
difficulty. 

"An'  mebby  she  won't;  then  what.?" 

"You'll  hafter  take  your  chances.  There's  al- 
ius an  angel  for  the  feller  what's  lookin'  for  her." 

"But  I'm  not  a  gawkin'  erroun'  these  here 
mountings  huntin'  for  angels." 

"Nuther  was  I,  but  she  come." 

"You  believe  in  angels,  do  yer.-^" 

"You  jes'  bet  I  do.     I've  seen  'em." 

196 


THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW     197 

"More'n  one?" 

"Yes,  I  lived  in  camp  with  one." 

"Camp!  Gosh!  Angels  don't  live  in  camps," 
snorted   Hanks    contemptuously. 

"Don't  they?  I  saw  a  angel  over  the  moun- 
tings what  would  make  yer  mouth  water." 

"You  be  daft,  boy.  Angels  is  in  th'  sky  an' 
wear  wings." 

"Well,  I've  seen  'em  in  the  woods  without  wings 
or  feathers;  jes'  nice  white  skirts,  bright  eyes 
and  lovely  hair." 

"Aw,  Gyp  ;  yer  foolin' ;  that's  a  gal !" 

"And  cayn't  a  gal  be  an  angel?" 

"Naw;  not  in  these  diggin's.  Leastwise  I 
never  seed  'em." 

"Well,  you'd  better  get  away  f'm  home  and 
get  idees.  There's  jes'  gobs  o'  angels  runnin' 
around." 

"They  don't  show  up  much  whar  I  be." 

"That  hain't  nuthin'  ag'in  an  angel.  They 
goes  when  they's  sent  for,  or  when  you's  doin' 
suthin'  to  fotch  'em." 

"What  you  be  a  doin'  down  thar  by  th'  crick 
when  that  'ar  angel  on  hossback  cum'  t'  yer?" 

"Med'tatin'." 

"'Bout  speerits  an'  things?" 

"Naw;  jes'  thinkin'." 

"Well,  when  a  feller's  a  thinkin'  he  be  a  thinkin' 
'bout  suthin,  ben't  he?" 

"Same's  I'm  doin'  now.  Hanks  you  know  I 
be  a  goin'  over  the  mounting  to  the  old  camp?" 


198  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Why  you  gwine?" 

"See  if  I  can  find  out  any  o'  the  people." 

"What  fur?" 

"Oh,  jes'  to  tell  'em." 

"Tell  'em  what.?" 

"My  good  luck." 

Without  waiting  for  further  parley  Gyp 
started  on  his  journey,  leaving  the  dumbfounded 
Hanks  watching  his  retreating  figure. 

A  strange  conflict  was  in  the  young  man's 
mind  as  he  passed  over  the  roads  so  familiar  to 
him  years  before  in  the  days  of  horrid  war.  But 
it  was  not  that  that  disturbed  him.  It  was  the 
mingling  of  great  hopes  which  seemed  to  surge 
against  each  other  until  like  combining  floods 
they  were  lost  in  each  other.  He  hoped  to  learn 
something  of  Aida  Moncure,  and  be  able  to  let 
her  know  of  his  great  good  fortune.  Then  there 
was  the  new  school  at  Lasuda,  where  he  would 
soon  be  as  a  pupil ;  and  all  the  wonderful  pros- 
pects into  which  these  would  lead  him.  He 
seemed  as  if  he  were  treading  the  celestial  moun- 
tains. 

When  he  came  to  the  cabin  of  Col.  Moncure 
there  was  no  evidence  of  life  to  be  seen.  The 
leaves  had  drifted  about  the  door,  decay  had  set 
in  and  the  faces  of  other  days  were  wanting. 
The  path  into  the  woods  was  dull  as  if  no  foot 
had  trodden  it  for  years.  The  door  was  slightly 
ajar.  He  pushed  it  open  and  stood  on  the 
threshold.     The  place  was  deserted.     There  was 


THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW     199 

a  smell  of  emptiness,  the  dank,  heavy  odor  which 
loves  the  desolate  places.  Leaves  were  wind- 
drifted  in  the  corners  of  the  rooms.  The  little 
mirror  that  hung  on  the  wall  over  the  washstand 
was  gone,  likewise  the  cot  in  the  corner  whereon 
Aida  slept.  There  were  no  guns  resting  in  the 
forked  sticks,  no  hunting  garments  on  the  pegs, 
nor  uniforms  of  warrior  days.  Nothing  in  all  the 
place  but  a  memory.  He  went  out  to  the  old 
camp  ground.  It,  too,  was  deserted.  Then  to 
the  "school  in  the  grove."  The  old  bench  was 
there,  but  worn  and  rough  by  storms  and  sun- 
shine. 

He  wondered  if  Aida  had  left  any  word  for 
him.  Did  she  dream  that  he  might  one  day  wan- 
der back  to  the  old  haunts.'*  If  so,  was  there  no 
line  anywhere,  no  memorial  to  tell  him  whither 
she  had  flown,  or  if  there  was  love  still  in  her 
heart  for  him.'*  He  searched  the  empty  rooms, 
but  found  only  dead  leaves  and  the  charred  ends 
of  logs  in  the  chimney  recess.  The  one  solitary 
sound  that  greeted  his  ears  was  the  noisy  tapping 
of  a  woodpecker  on  a  dead  oak  by  the  old  fort. 
Tears  were  in  his  eyes  and  he  came  away  heavy- 
hearted,  climbed  the  stone  steps  in  the  edge  of 
the  clifF  and  went  up  to  the  fort.  The  door  stood 
open.  Here,  too,  the  winds  and  the  winters  had 
been  playing  pranks.  The  wistaria  had  fallen 
and  lay  in  a  heap  of  brush  where  weeds  had  grown 
and  died,  and  armies  of  leaves,  defeated  in  the 
battle  with  storms,  had  found  their  sepulcher. 


200  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

The  mess-room  was  empty.  He  walked  through 
the  crooked  conduit  to  the  kitchen.  Ashes,  only 
ashes.  He  climbed  the  stone  spiral  to  the  third 
floor.  The  storage  boxes  gaped  up  at  him,  but 
held  no  welcome.  The  blankets  were  gone.  The 
guns  had  disappeared.  No  memorial  of  former 
days  remained.  He  raised  a  trap  and  descended 
to  the  intermediate  floor.  Only  emptiness  was 
there,  and  no  sound  save  the  echo  of  his  footfall. 
The  embrasures  twinkled  around  the  wall,  emit- 
ting a  glimmer  of  light.  The  place  was  more 
desolate  in  peace  than  in  war. 

Gyp  thought  of  the  cave,  and  ascended  to  the 
third  loft  once  more  and  tried  the  entrance  to 
the  tunnel.  The  door  had  been  so  eff'ectively 
sealed  that  its  outlines  could  not  be  even  traced. 
He  went  down  the  stairway  to  the  door  on  the 
first  floor  leading  to  the  underground  chamber. 
He  remembered  where  he  had  seen  Perk  Thomp- 
son secure  the  key.  Could  he  expect  it  to  be  there 
still?  He  would  examine.  He  went  to  the  wall, 
where  he  found  a  stone  six  inches  square  had  been 
neatly  fitted.  After  some  prying  and  twisting  he 
succeeded  in  removing  it.  He  found  there  an  ob- 
long receptacle  into  which  he  thrust  his  arm,  but 
there  was  nothing.  He  thought  it  strange  that  a 
secret  receptacle  should  be  so  carefully  planned 
and  have  nothing  in  it;  but  on  second  thought 
he  said:  "Of  course  all  treasure  would  be  re- 
moved." On  withdrawing  his  hand  it  struck 
against  a  loose  stone  in  the  interior  wall.     He 


.    THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW     201 

remembered  that  Thompson  had  spent  quite  a  lit- 
tle time  here,  more  than  he  thought  necessary  in 
merely  depositing  a  key.  The  memory  of  it 
aroused  his  suspicion.  Maybe  there  was  a  pocket 
within  a  pocket.  With  a  little  effort  he  suc- 
ceeded in  dislodging  the  suspicious  stone,  when 
back  of  it  he  discovered  a  shelf  on  which  lay  a 
bunch  of  keys,  a  half  dozen  or  more,  fastened  to 
a  ring.  The  keys  were  large,  of  ancient  pattern, 
brass  and  discolored  with  age.  Thompson  had 
removed  the  key  of  the  under  chamber  from  the 
ring  to  hide  the  thought  that  other  keys  were 
there,  but  had  carefully  replaced  it.  After  sev- 
eral attempts  the  key  was  found  which  unlocked 
the  iron  clasp.  The  door  was  thrown  back  and 
he  descended  to  the  gloomy  apartment  below. 
The  lamp  was  still  in  the  niche.  He  touched  it 
with  a  match,  and  was  gratified  to  find  oil  in  it. 
With  one  of  the  keys  in  his  hand  he  opened  the 
door  leading  to  the  lower  arm  of  the  Y.  He 
passed  through  into  the  tunnel,  closed  the  door 
behind  him  and  slowly  made  his  way  to  "The  Hall 
of  Stalactites,"  where  Snags  Groucher  had  been 
imprisoned  a  few  days  before  the  announcement 
of  peace.  Now  that  he  was  here  he  wondered  why 
he  had  come.  He  could  not  expect  to  find  any- 
one here.  But  his  heart  was  weary,  and  so  he 
wandered  aimlessly  about  and  came  at  last  to 
these  chambers  where  he  had  often  been  before 
and  where  he  and  Aida  had  been  very  happy  ex- 
ploring the  crystalline  vaults.     He  ducked  under 


202  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

the  heavy  ceiling  and  strolled  about  through  "The 
Crystal  Grotto,"  the  "Chamber  of  Columns,"  the 
"Queen's  Boudoir,"  and  all  the  glories  of  this  en- 
chanted underworld.  But  he  found  nothing, 
nothing  that  he  sought  for,  nothing  that  his  heart 
craved  and  yearned  for,  only  this  magicland,  only 
this  fairyland,  only  this  wonderland. 

He  was  returning  by  "The  King's  Treasury," 
when  he  paused.  The  chamber  was  almost  closed 
up.  He  wondered  why  this  place  should  be  called 
a  treasury.  He  climbed  to  the  top  of  rubbish 
which  nearly  blocked  the  entrance,  fastened  his 
lamp  on  the  end  of  a  stick  which  he  carried  and 
thrust  it  into  the  darkness.  There  was  nothing 
there  but  the  almost  impenetrable  gloom,  no  mag- 
nificence of  formation,  no  beauty  of  wall  or  of 
ceiling,  none  of  the  glorious  sights  to  be  seen 
elsewhere  in  the  caverns.  He  thought  it  all  the 
more  strange.  "King's  Treasury"  and  no  treas- 
ures !  It  was  dark  as  a  coal  mine.  He  climbed 
over  the  rubbish  and  entered,  hunkering  along  the 
floor  with  his  sickly  glimmer  of  a  light.  His  foot 
struck  against  a  piece  of  metal.  He  picked  it  up 
and  examined  it  by  the  smoking  light.  It  was 
part  of  an  ancient  armor.  Other  pieces  were 
found,  a  helmet,  the  broken  shaft  of  a  spear,  paul- 
drons,  mailed  apron  and  knee  pieces.  His  curi- 
osity was  now  genuinely  aroused.  He  examined 
the  wall,  and  by  groping  about  discovered  shelves 
and  niches  whereon  and  wherein  treasures  had  no 
doubt  been  placed,  but  had  been  carried   away. 


THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW     203 

One  of  the  shelves  had  fallen  bringing  away  with 
it  part  of  the  wall.  Holding  his  lamp  close  to 
this  fissure  he  saw  a  horizontal  line.  Then  he  dis- 
covered one  perpendicular  to  it.  He  tore  away 
part  of  the  wall  and  unearthed  a  door  which  had 
at  one  time  been  securely  walled  up.  He  tried 
to  open  it.  It  was  immovable,  solid  as  the  wall 
itself.  Pie  endeavored  to  insert  the  broken  shaft 
of  the  spear  under  one  of  the  hinges,  but  failed. 
Then  he  thought  of  the  keys.  One  after  another 
was  tried  to  no  purpose.  He  took  up  the  last 
one,  and  the  largest  of  all.  It  entered  the  key- 
hole, but  would  not  turn  the  lock.  He  was  satis- 
fied he  had  found  the  right  key.  The  lock  was 
rusty,  no  doubt.  Again  he  tried,  and  again  un- 
availingly.  Then  an  expedient  came  to  him.  He 
took  two  small  pieces  of  the  armor,  placed  one  on 
either  side  of  the  flat,  circular  head  of  the  key, 
thus  giving  himself  a  larger  leverage.  He  threw 
his  strength  upon  it.  The  lock  began  to  grit. 
It  had  moved  a  little.  He  worked  it  back  and 
forth,  gaining  a  little  each  time,  till  finally  the 
bolt  fell  back  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
open  the  door.  He  took  hold  of  the  handle  and 
pulled.  It  was  fast.  It  would  not  budge.  He 
ran  the  spear  shaft  through  the  ring  in  the  door, 
took  one  end  of  it  in  each  hand,  placed  one  foot 
firmly  against  the  wall,  pulled  with  his  might,  and 
the  door  was  open. 

He  thrust  his  lamp  into  the  vault.     There  were 
the    treasures    of   kings !     There   were    pots    and 


204  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

bowls  filled  with  gold — coin  and  bullion.  There 
were  bags  of  silver  on  the  shelves,  and  plate  of 
ancient  and  exquisite  workmanship.  Gyp  was  so 
excited  he  scarcely  knew  what  to  do.  The  dim 
flickering  of  the  lamp  but  poorly  revealed  the  in- 
valuable treasure  Avhich  he  had  discovered.  Most 
of  the  bags  were  broken  with  age  and  the  money 
lay  in  heaps  on  the  shelves  and  over  the  floor. 
He  emptied  one  shelf  after  another  and  piled  their 
contents  around  him.  There  were  precious 
stones,  sapphires  and  opals  and  amethysts,  dia- 
monds and  topazes,  names  which  he  scarcely  knew, 
yet  whose  rich  and  resplendent  colors  blazed  upon 
him  in  the  twilight  of  the  vault.  There  were  cups 
and  flagons  and  trays,  intricate  in  tracery  and 
orientally  wrought.  jNIore  treasure  than  he  had 
ever  seen  or  dreamed  of.  He  held  the  coin  to 
the  light.  It  was  gold,  he  knew,  and  the  coins 
were  large.  He  could  not  read  the  superscrip- 
tions nor  tell  what  country  they  belonged  to ;  yet 
he  knew  the  pieces  were  valuable  and  the  amount 
greater  than  he  could  count. 

Here  was  a  fortune  bej'ond  the  dreams  of  ava- 
rice. What  would  he  do  with  it?  He  could  not 
tell.  It  was  too  great  a  problem.  As  it  had  been 
safe  here  for  generations,  there  was  now  probably 
no  safer  place  for  it.  Here  he  would  leave  it  for 
the  present.  He  filled  his  pockets  with  some  of 
the  most  valuable  coins,  replaced  the  wonderful 
treasure  on  the  shelves  and  receptacles  of  the 
vault,  closed  the  door  and  bolted  it,  returned  the 


THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW     205 

,  keys  to  his  pocket,  left  the  armor  where  he  had 
found  it  on  the  floor  of  the  cavern,  and  made  his 
way  back  to  the  fort,  a  new  man,  new  to  himself, 
ready  to  face  his  ambitions  and  master  his  prob- 
lems. 

Reaching  the  fort  he  divided  the  keys,  placed 
those  belonging  to  the  caverns  in  his  pocket  and 
returned  the  remaining  ones  to  the  hole  in  the 
wall  where  he  had  found  them,  restored  the  guard- 
ian stone  to  its  place  and  started  for  home.  He 
crossed  the  red  highway  where  he  and  Aida  had 
met  their  thrilling  experience  away  back  in  '65. 

"Then,"  he  soliloquized,  "I  had  one  treasure, 
now  I  have  two.  One  of  them  is  hidden  from  the 
world,  the  other  is  hidden  from  me.  Heaven  help 
me  to  bring  them  together." 

He  passed  on,  a  new  way  over  the  mountain, 
crossed  a  bridge  which  hung  above  a  black  and 
shuddering  chasm.  Here  he  left  the  road  and 
followed  a  path  leading  more  directly  to  the  sum- 
mit. He  climbed  to  the  crest  of  one  of  those 
flinty  sphinxes  and  for  a  moment  stood  gazing 
into  the  fathomless  spaces  where  God's  great 
world  lay  as  if  in  sleep,  so  still,  so  tranquil,  so 
voiceless,  its  great  cones  pillowed  against  the  blue 
infinite.  Then  he  turned  and  followed  a  circuit- 
ous trail.  He  beheld  something  ahead  of  him 
like  a  little  patch  of  sky  shining  among  the  trees. 
He  first  thought  it  a  glimpse  of  heaven,  but  as 
he  saw  it  move,  and  then  disappear  he  was  con- 
vinced of  his  mistake.     He  crept  cautiously  from 


206  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

tree  to  tree  by  way  of  reconnoiter.  Then  he  saw 
a  coil  of  smoke  rise  from  a  cluster  of  rocks  and 
the  patch  of  sky  move  out  in  full  view.  He 
straightened  up,  rubbed  his  eyes,  gazed  again 
more  intently.  Surely  he  was  mistaken.  His 
eyes  seemed  to  burn  a  path  through  the  rhododen- 
drons. 

"It  looks  like  him,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 
"It  is  his  coat.  It  is  his  walk !  Yes,  that's  him ! 
That's  him."  Then  he  called:  "Hello,  old  Perk 
Thompson;  what  ye  doin'  up  here.'"' 

Instantly  the  "patch  of  sky"  disappeared,  and 
in  a  moment  reappeared  with  a  gun  leveled  at 
Gyp,  and  shouted : 

"Throw  up  yer  ban's  an'  stan'  thar!" 

"Don't  shoot,  Perk,  don't  ye  know  me?  I'm 
Gyp  Stybright." 

"Hevings  an'  rattlesnakes,  Gyp !  Whar'd  ye 
drop  f'm.^"  and  Thompson  leaned  his  gun  against 
a  tree  and  hurried  to  greet  his  old  friend.  "I 
tell  yer  I  cum  mighty  nigh  pepperin'  ye  with  th' 
old  blunderbus." 

"Dear  old  Perk,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  yer !" 

"So  be  I,  Gyp,  glad  t'  see  ye.  How'd  ye  git 
here.?" 

"Been  visitin'  the  old  camp  ground." 

"An'  how'd  ye  know  me.?" 

"Know  ye.  Perk.  I'd  know  that  ar  sky-blue 
suit  if  I  met  it  in  purgatory.  Why  don't  y'  get 
another.?" 

"This  is   another ;  ye  didn't  suppose  I'd  be  a 


THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW     207 

wearin'  that  'ar  old  suit  all  these  years  since  th' 
war?" 

"Can't  ye  find  a  red  .one,  or  a  green  one  for  a 
change?" 

"Aw,  Gyp,  me  boy ;  this  is  my  peculiarity. 
We'ns  is  knowed  by  our  clothes,  same  as  a  sheep 
is  by  its  wool,  same  as  a  rabbit  by  its  track.  If 
it  hadn't  been  fer  that  'ar  blue  suit  ye  wouldn't 
a  knowed  me.  Gyp !  Ye  mightened  a  hollered  and 
ye  might  a  been  layin'  down  thar  in  th'  ravine 
no  wiser.     Y'  see  peculiarity's  a  good  thing." 

"What  ye  doin'  here,  Perk?  What's  that 
smoke  over  there?" 

"It  hain't  alius  safe  fer  a  feller  t'  meddle  with 
another  feller's  smoke ;  but  I  know  yer.  Gyp. 
Yer  wouldn't  blow  me.  Come  along.  I'll  show 
yer  suthin'.  I'm  runnin'  a  still;  makin'  moon- 
shine ;  gatherin'  dew  whar  dew  never  fell  before. 
It's  like  manna  f'm  heving.  Hev  a  sip?"  Perk 
winked,  crooked  his  finger  and  led  the  way  to  a 
den  among  the  rocks.  Shoving  a  stone  aside  he 
disclosed  a  hidden  box-like  opening  into  which 
he  thrust  his  arm  and  drew  out  a  long,  black 
bottle. 

"Yer  needn't  mind.  Perk.  Licker  killed  my 
maw.  I  thank  ye  all  the  same,  but  I  don't  be 
touchin'  it." 

Perk  straightened  himself  up  and  stood  with 
the  cup  in  one  hand  and  the  bottle  in  the  other, 
gazing  at  Gyp  in  dumb  wonderment,  trying  to 
grasp    the    meaning    of    his     speech.     Then    he 


208  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

turned,  thrust  the  bottle  back  among  the  rocks, 
pushed  the  stone  in  its  place,  sat  down  on  a  stump 
and  looking  Gyp  straight  in  the  face,  said,  dis- 
dainfully : 

"Yer  either  a  saint  er  a  fool!" 

"I'm  neither,  Perk.  I'm  just  tryin'  to  be  a 
man." 

"Be  ye  workin'  fer  th'  gov'ment  huntin'  out 
stilleries?"  and  Perk  looked  very  straight  at  Gyp 
and  with  a  fire  in  his  eyes  which  was  not  good  to 
warm  at. 

"No,  Perk.  I  been  a  drivin'  the  bull-tongue 
plow  since  the  war,  and  raisin'  taters.  I'm  goin' 
to  school  to-morrow  to  get  an  edycation.  I  told 
ye  the  truth.  Ye  needn't  be  afeard.  Ye  can 
trust  me.  I  never  betrayed  a  friend,  and  I'm 
not  goin'  to  begin  on  you.  Perk.  Ye  mind  them 
days  in  the  camp?" 

"Them  gov'ment  fellers  be  alius  spyin'  around 
fer  us  moonshiners,  an'  as  yer  on  yer  way  home, 
I'll  walk  ye  a  bit  along  th'  trail." 

"Perk,  where'd  the  Moncures  go  after  the 
war.'*" 

"Up  North." 

"Does  ye  know  what  part  of  the  North.'"' 

"I  know  nothin'.  Gyp,  'cept  they  said  they  was 
agoin'  f'm  here  t'  Knoxville,  an'  f'm  thar  to  Cin- 
'snati.  They  was  goin'  furder  North,  but  whar, 
I  dunno." 

Gyp's  mind  was  now  a  whirlpool  that  sucked 
in  everything  about  Aida  and  gave  nothing  back. 


THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW     209 

He  only  knew,  and  it  was  all  that  he  could  learn, 
that  the  idol  of  his  heart  was  somewhere  in  the 
great  Northland.  Into  that  vast  dream-country 
that  lay  beyond  the  Ohio  she  had  vanished. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
THE  TRAIL  OF  THE   SERPENT 

When  the  Civil  War  closed  Snags  Groucher 
went  directly  on  her  release  from  the  caverns  to 
Camp  Mecune.  The  olive  branch  was  nothing  to 
her.  No  white  dove  circled  about  her  heart. 
Peace  might  spread  its  protecting  a^gis  over  the 
states ;  she  remained  bitter  as  ever.  The  rebel- 
lion in  her  soul  was  hotter  than  before.  No 
proclamation  can  still  the  fury  of  impassioned 
hate,  nor  all  the  batteries  of  infuriate  war  drive 
it  away. 

Snags  found  Habor,  as  she  hoped  to  find  him, 
in  his  tent.  The  wound  in  his  breast  was  un- 
healed, the  bitterness  of  his  feelings  rankled 
deeper  than  ever,  and  her  presence  only  caused 
the  current  of  his  wrath  to  rise  to  a  more  tur- 
bulent level.  They  were  both  furious  because  the 
war  had  terminated  before  the  opportunity  came 
for  their  revenge.  They  could  not  now  attribute 
their  hostility  to  these  people  to  patriotism  for 
the  South.  Appomattox  had  declared  that  there 
was  now  no  South,  no  North ;  no  Confederate,  no 
Federal  forces.  The  nation  was  one  again,  and 
any  attack  made  against  their  former  enemies 
would  come  under  the  condemnation  of  civil  law. 

210 


TRAIL  OF  THE   SERPENT  211 

To  strike  down  an  enemy  would  be  murder. 
That,  however,  in  no  way  allayed  the  fierce  fury 
that  burned  within  them.  They  would  be  re- 
venged upon  Gyp  and  Aida,  let  the  consequences 
be  what  they  may. 

In  those  furious  days,  before  the  Confederate 
camp  was  dissolved,  and  while  Habor  was  still  a 
sufferer  from  his  wound,  his  passion  raged  like 
a  fire  unquenchable. 

"That  devil-band  has  dispersed,"  he  stormed, 
"and  here  I  am,  unable  to  leave  my  bed,  racked 
with  pain  while  they  go  off  with  whole  skins.  But 
Gyp  shall  not  escape  me.  Once  my  wound  is 
healed  I'll  track  him  into  the  very  flames  of 
Tophet." 

"If  it  hadn't  a  been  fer  him,  ye  wouldn't  a  had 
t'  suffer  as  yer  doin',"  the  w^oman  responded. 

"I've  charged  this  agony  all  up  to  him.  He 
will  have  to  pay  the  debt  to  the  last  cent." 

"And  we'll  get  it ;  ay,  we'll  get  it !  every  last 
blood-red  cent  of  it !" 

"I'm  no  Shylock,"  said  the  wounded  man,  "but 
the  pound  of  flesh  is  mine,  and  I'll  take  it  nearest 
the  heart.     Have  the  scales  ready.  Snags !" 

"An'  think  o'  poor  Terbaccy  Tom!  my  Tom, 
an'  what  he  suffered  off  yander  on  th'  oaks." 

"Oh,  there's  many  a  score  to  be  settled." 

"Some  of  them  as  ain't  dead  '11  wish  they  were. 
But  won't  it  be  murder,  Jim.'"' 

"Murder  be  d d !     They'll  have  to  catch  us 

before  they   skin  us.     Our  work  will  be  so   cun- 


212  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

ningly  done  that  the  devil  himself  won't  be  able 
to  find  any  evidence  against  us." 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !"  laughed  the  heartless  woman. 
"The  Twin  Oaks,  the  Red  Swan's  Neck  will  rise 
up  in  jedgment  ag'in  us  all;  but  who  cares. 
We'll  get  them!  we'll  get  them!" 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  with  that  doll-face 
girl?"  inquired  Habor,  with  a  sudden  turn  in  the 
conversation. 

"Aida?" 

"Yes." 

"Let  her  dangle  f'm  a  lim'." 

"Oh,  no !  I  have  a  better  fate  for  her !"  and 
his  laugh  was  that  of  a  fiend.  "I'll  have  my  sweet 
revenge  for  the  bloody  gash  of  her  knife." 

"There's  one  apiece  for  us,  Habor !  Ha !  ha ! 
ha!  You  take  the  path  of  the  crimson-cheeked 
doll  and  I'll  take  th'  trail  o'  Gyp.  I  can  follow 
th'  scent  o'  blood.  Oh,  I'm  a  regular  blood- 
hound!" and  her  laugh  was  like  the  crackling  of 
flames  among  thorns. 

"Let  me  once  get  over  this  wound,  and  the  end 
of  the  world'll  come  sooner  than  I'll  give  over  my 
purpose." 

The  nurse,  sitting  by  his  side,  had  listened 
patiently  to  the  terrible  conversation,  and  at  last 
dared  to  say : 

"But,  Mr.  Habor,  hav'n't  these  people  already 
suffered  quite  a  good  deal  at  our  hands?" 

Snags  and  Habor  turned  upon  her  in  amaze- 
ment. 


TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT  213 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  angrily  inquired  Snags, 
who  did  not  welcome  any  interference. 

"Take  Gyp,  for  instance,"  the  nurse  continued, 
scarcely  noticing  the  angry  inquiry,  "He  has 
lost  his  father.  You  know  he  was  hung  by  our 
people ;  and  his  stepmother,  Selma,  Avas  con- 
sumed, of  course  unintentionally,  in  the  burning 
of  her  cabin.  Gyp's  home  was  destroyed  and  all 
his  possessions,  and  to-day  he  is  an  orphan  and 
an  outcast." 

"That's  a  good  deal,  I'll  admit;  but  it's  only 
part  of  the  pay  that's  coming  to  him.  He  and 
they  got  what  they  deserved." 

"If  that  accursed  brat  was  out  o'  th'  way,  you 
wouldn't  have  any  revengeful  memories  to  cher- 
ish, nor  would  I,"  added  the  cruel  Snags,  her  face 
livid  with  the  memory. 

"Besides  this  is  not  a  public  affair  any  longer ; 
it  is  an  individual  matter." 

"That's  so,  Habor,  every  word  of  it.  He  shot 
you  in  cold  blood,  in  broad  daylight.  Ha !  ha ! 
It's  a  comin'  to  him !  It's  a  comin'  to  him ! 
Loose  the  bloodhounds  and  the  vultures." 

"But  we  must  not  forget,"  the  nurse  ventured, 
addressing  Snags,  "that  Mr.  Habor  had  invaded 
their  camp  and  had  stolen  this  girl.  Had  Gyp 
similarly  crept  into  our  camp  and  stolen  one  of 
our  sweet  young  women,  would  you  not  have  felt 
that,  according  to  the  rules  of  war,  you  were 
justified  in  shooting  him  as  he  fled  with  the  girl 
in  his  arms.'"' 


2U  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Sure  I'd  a  shot  him.  I'd  a  made  his  hateful 
hide  look  like  old  granny's  sieve." 

"Then  your  logic  justifies  the  shooting  of  Mr. 
Habor." 

"To  the  devil  with  logic,"  Habor  snorted 
contemptuously.  "Such  reasoning  would  vipset 
every  plan  of  getting  even.  Must  I  suffer  this 
awful  pain  and  no  redress?" 

"But  you  said  just  now,"  the  nurse  continued, 
"that  you  would  be  revenged  upon  the  girl. 
Surely  the  girl  did  nothing  but  defend  herself 
when  she  felt  that  her  life  was  at  stake." 

"There  wasn't  the  slightest  danger  to  the  girl's 
life.  She  was  perfectly  safe.  The  only  danger 
was  through  her  own  foolishness  in  drawing  a 
knife  at  that  awful  hour  when  I  needed  all  my  wit 
and  strategy." 

"But  you  were  responsible  for  the  'awful  hour.' 
If  you  had  not  stolen  the  girl  you  would  not  have 
met  your  injury.  How  could  she  know  that  no 
evil  was  intended?"  said  the  nurse,  rather  warmly. 
"She  may  have  thought  that  your  feelings  then 
were  the  same  as  you  represent  them  now ;  and  in 
view  of  the  insinuation  just  made  in  regard  to 
your  method  of  vengeance,  do  you  not  think  she 
was  justified  in  defending  herself?" 

"And  so  I  must  suffer  to  gratify  an  accursed 
sentiment !  Neither  logic  nor  religion  can  claim 
the  rules  of  the  road  when  vengeance  has  the 
right  of  way." 

"Surel}^   Mr.    Habor,    revenge    is   beneath   the 


TRAIL  OF  THE   SERPENT  215 

consideration  of  a  great  soul ;  and  I  am  sure, 
when  you  have  recovered  from  this  abnormal  con- 
dition you  will  look  at  things  differently." 

"Never!  Never!  I'll  track  that  girl  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth.  I  will  abide  my  time.  Re- 
venge is  sweet,  and  it  is  coming." 

"That's  th'  stuff,  Habor !  No  goody-goody 
talk  fer  us.  We'll  sleep  better  in  our  graves 
when  their  souls  have  paved  the  way.  Gyp  fer 
me ;  Aida  fer  you,  ha !  ha !" 

"Then,  Mr.  Habor,"  said  the  nurse,  with  an 
expression  of  indignation  on  her  crimson  coun- 
tenance, "if  such  is  your  determination,  you  will 
kindly  permit  me  to  withdraw  from  the  tent  and 
from  further  attendance  upon  you,"  and  the  nurse 
bowed  politely  and  turned  to  leave.  Amazed, 
Habor  said  to  her : 

"Do  you  intend  to  leave  me  in  this  condition 
of  suffering.^" 

"I  know  of  no  reason  why  I  should  use  my 
talent  to  restore  you  to  health  and  strength 
for  any  such  wicked  purpose  as  you  have  just 
decided  upon.  You  have  Miss  Groucher ;  let  her 
be  your  helper." 

It  was  along  in  the  afternoon,  when  Habor  was 
resting  more  eas}^  that  he  said  to  Snags : 

"To  what  part  of  the  North  did  Col.  Moncure 

go?" 

"I've  been  trying  to  find  out,  but  can't." 

"No   matter,"   said   he   turning  on   his   pillow ; 

"there's  no  city  so  big  that  I  won't  search  it ;  no 


216  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

mountain  so  high  that  I  won't  climb  it ;  no  sea 
so  broad  that  I  won't  sail  it.  I'll  drag  hell  with 
a  muckrake  but  I'll  find  her."  Then  after  a 
twinge  of  pain,  he  said:  "By  the  way,  Snags,  I 
don't  understand  that  capture  of  Aida  and  your- 
self." 

"Nuther  do  I." 

"Do  you  think  the  old  apple  woman  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it?" 

"I   don't   know.      She   alius   seemed   faithful." 

"She  seemed  that  way.  Of  course  it  would 
not  do  to  seem  any  other  way.  If  she  had  been 
in  the  conspiracy  that  would  have  spoiled  her 
plan." 

"But  if  she  had  wanted  to  help  the  girl  to  es- 
cape, why  wouldn't  she  have  taken  her  the  day 
you  wanted  to  leave  her  at  her  home?  Besides, 
Jim,  they  captured  her  the  same  time  they  took 
the  girl  and  me." 

"That  might  all  have  been  arranged  to  deceive 
you." 

"It  might  a  been." 

"It  all  seems  very  strange." 

"How  did  they  know  there  was  a  mine  there, 
Jim,  and  that  she  was  confined  in  the  blind  end 
of  it?" 

"That  old  beast,  Snickerby,  used  to  dig  coal 
there.     He  planned  that  part,  you  may  be  sure." 

"My,  but  I'd  like  to  get  my  claws  on  that 
feller !  Ther'  wouldn't  be  much  of  him  left  fer 
old  Judy  Gans  to  wink  her  nose  at." 


TRAIL  OF  THE   SERPENT  217 

"It's  one  of  the  mysteries  that  I  want  to  see 
cleared  up." 

"When  you  get  the  girl  maybe  she'll  explain." 
"Whether  the  mystery  is  solved  or  not,  life  for 
nic  will  have  but  one  mission  till  I  have  accom- 
plished my  purpose,"  and  as  another  spasm  of 
pain  racked  him,  Snags  soothed  his  brow  and 
told  him  he  must  be  quiet. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  RIFT  IN  THE   CLOUDS 

Gyp  found  In  the  home  of  one  of  his  friends  an 
old  trunk,  covered  with  the  mottled  skin  of  a 
fawn,  with  which  the  moths  had  taken  distressing 
liberties.  Its  lock  and  hinges  were  large  enough 
for  the  gates  of  a  fortress,  while  phalanxes  of 
brass  tacks  stood  guard  over  and  around  it. 
Into  this  heirloom  he  packed  his  few  poor  be- 
longings, and  waited  for  Old  Mose  to  carry  him 
to  Lasuda.  As  the  old  negro  was  long  in  com- 
ing Gyp  strolled  up  the  road  and  sat  down  on  a 
stump  and  waited.  In  the  midst  of  his  reveries 
he  heard  a  voice  singing: 

"  'Swing  low,   sweet   char-i-ot, 
Comin'  for  to  carry  me  home; 
Swing  low,   sweet  char-i-ot, 
Comin'  for  to  carry  me  home,' " 

and  presently  around  a  bend  in  the  road  Mose 
came  into  view  in  his  two-wheeled  cart,  driving 
his  skinny  Bucephalus,  bumping  over  the  stones, 
his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  rope-reins  dan- 
gling from  his  hands,  shoeless  and  hatless,  his 
fuzzy  thick  hair  covering  his  black  dome  like 
snow.     He  seemed  to  howl,  rather  than  sing,  and 

218 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS  219 

his  harsh,  discordant  notes  echoed  shrilly  through 
the  hills : 

"  'His  track  I  see,  and  I'll  pursue-u-u, 
Comin'   for  to  carry  me  ■ — ' 

Woa,  Bocef'lus  !"  she  shouted,  as  he  threw  his  feet 
against  the  front  of  the  cart  and  pulled  on  ^le 
ropes,  staring  at  the  figure  sitting  by  the  road- 
side. 

"Fo'  de  Lawd  an'   de  gospill.   Gyp,  dat  you? 
Whuff er  yo'  come  hyar?" 

"Just  come  out  here  to  wait  for  ye." 
"Ye  mos'  skert  the  relig'n  all  out'n  me.     You 
look  lak  a  ghos'." 

"Ghostses  hain't  jes  nuffin'  at  all,  Mose." 
"Yah!  yah!  yah!"  and  Moss  tossed  his  grey 
thatch  in  uproarious  laughter  at  the  remembrance 
of  his  former  experience  with  ghosts.  "What  a 
fool  niggeh  I  done  mak'  o'  meself  'bout  that  ole 
ha'nted  house.  You  done  cuahed  me.  Gyp,  yah ! 
yah !  yah !  Suah  you  done  cuahed  me  o'  dem  fool 
ghos'  noshuns.  Come  right  down  hyah,  Gyp, 
and  git  in  dis  wagon.  We  git  you  trunk,  den 
we's  gwine  go  by  Mose's  cabin  an'  see  my  Dinah. 
She's  de  greates'  niggeh  on  de  yearth,  'cept  Mose, 
yah !  yah ! 

'Comin'  for  to  carry  me  home,' 

Nebbeh  see  dat  woman.  Gyp?  She's  a  dahlin' 
pickaninny,  an'  she  done  weigh  three  hundred 
pounds. 


220  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

'She's  sweet  as   a  peach, 
An'  she  sticks  lak  a  leech, 

An'  she  twines  lak  a  mawnin'  glory.' 

Yo'  done  fall  in  lub  wid  mah  honey-dove,  suah, 
'Comin'  fer  to  carry  me  home.'  " 

Dinah  was  a  great  heroine  in  the  eyes  of  Old 
Mose,  and  since  her  part  in  the  escape  of  Col. 
Maxwell  she  had  grown  wonderfully  in  the  old 
negro's  estimation.  In  comparison  with  her 
Miriam  and  Deborah  were  low  down  and  far  away, 
and  the  queen  of  Sheba  was  a  back  number. 
Mose  was  her  twig,  and  she  bent  him ;  her  dough, 
and  she  kneaded  him ;  her  kingdom,  and  she  ruled 
him.  She  made  him  go  to  church  when  he  wanted 
to  go  fishing.  She  compelled  him  to  give  up  his 
fiddle  and  keep  away  from  the  hoe-downs.  She 
told  him  no  man  could  go  to  heaven  with  a  fiddle 
under  his  arm.  Mose  shook  his  head.  It  was  a 
hard  thing  to  believe,  nevertheless  he  said  he'd  be- 
lieve it  if  "it  tuk  the  las'  mite  o'  sense  he  had." 
He  yielded,  but  shook  his  woolly  pate.  Mose  in 
heaven,  and  no  fiddle?  It  didn't  seem  sensible; 
but  Dinah  said  so,  and  Dinah  was  wise.  And  the 
much  neglected  violin  hung  on  one  side  of  the 
chimney  and  the  banjo  on  the  other,  and  Mose 
sat  between  them  and  glowered  into  the  ashes. 

"Won't  there  be  any  fiddles  in  heaven,  Mose.?" 
Gyp  asked. 

"I  dunno,"  he  ruminated.      "Ef  dey  done  got 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS  221 

hawps  up  dar,  what's  de  matter  wid  a  fiddle? 
Niggeh  no  good  up  dar  'thout  fiddle  an'  bones. 
He  knows  nuffin  about  a  hawp,"  and  he  continued 
to  shake  his  thatch.  He  seemed  to  be  getting 
very  serious,  and  kept  muttering  some  unintel- 
ligible jargon. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mose.?" 

"I'm  mad;  mad's  a  rattler." 

"At  me?     I  han't  done  ye  no  harm." 

"It's  Dinah!" 

"Why,  you  just  said  she  was  the  best  woman 
on  the  earth." 

"Lookee  heah,  Gyp.  Dinah's  smawt;  but  she 
done  act  de  fool.  Dinah  done  got  relig'n,  and 
dey  be  havin'  one  o'  dem  niggeh  camp  meetin's  at 
de  meetin'  house.  An'  I  be  a  wo'kin'  hawd  all 
day,  an'  come  home  tiahd  out.  W'at  yo'  think 
dis  hyah  niggeh  foun'  w'en  he  come  to  de  cabin 
hawdly  able  to  wa'k?" 

"What  did  ye  find?" 

"Three  niggeh  preachers  a  sittin'  dar  at  mah 
table  wid  Dinah,  a  eatin'  mah  chuckin,  an'  she  a 
smilin'  lak  she  dead  in  lub  wid  de  hull  niggeh  Con- 
fence  !" 

"And  it  made  ye  mad?" 

"Mad !  W'en  de  debbil  went  aroun'  roarin  foh 
suffin  to  dewour,  he  ben't  ha'f  as  fur'us  as  I  be. 
Me  a  wo'kin'  hawd  wid  de  sweat  on  mah  brow  an' 
dem  niggeh  preachers  eatin'  up  mah  las'  ole 
shanghai :  wouldn't  dat  raise  de  bile  on  de  Pos'le 
Pawl?" 


222  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Of  course  ye  didn't  do  nothin'." 

"Do  nuffin,  boy !  Ye  haynt  on  to  de  ways  o' 
de  married  folk.  I  said  to  them,  'Git  outen 
hyah,  y'  low-down,  wuffless  cannerbals,  eatin'  up 
a  pore  man's  chuckin  f'm  behin'  his  back.'  And  I 
up  an'  chase  'em  outen  de  cabin." 

"Didn't  that  make  Dinah  powerful  angry?" 

"We  was  boff  hot  enough  to  tak'  off  de  grid- 
dle. We  was  mos'  baked  thro'.  Dinah  she  done 
tuck  mah  fiddle  kase  dem  wuffless  niggeh  preach- 
ers say  a  man  cayn't  get  to  glory  wid  a  fiddle. 
And  she  done  feed  dat  las'  ole  shanghai  rooster 
to  dem  same  oudashus  men.  A  feller's  gotter 
stan'  up  foil  his  relig'n." 

"Was  that  all  before  you  left  home  to-day?" 
Gyp  asked. 

"Bless  yer,  Gyp,  it  happen  yeahs  ago ;  but 
w'en  it  comes  ober  me  it  sets  me  bilin'  lak  a  kittle  in 
sugah-makin'  time.  Dar  be  some  things  it  am  hawd 
foil  a  'spectable  niggeh  to  fo'get,  an'  dese  hyah 
chucken  eatin'  niggeh  preachers  am  one  on  'em." 

"Then  you  don't  play  the  fiddle  any  more, 
Uncle  Mose?" 

"Sof'ly  dar !"  replied  Mose,  brightening  up. 
"Dinah  say  a  man  cayn't  keep  his  relig'n  an'  his 
fiddle  goin'  at  de  same  time.  Couse  I  don'  lak  to 
fight  lak  I  uster;  so  I  jes  lets  dat  fiddle  hang 
ag'in  de  jam.  But  w'en  Dinah  goes  out  washin 
— Lawdy  me,  w'at  a  time  dis  niggeh  do  hab  wid 
dat  vi'lin." 

"But  I  thought  you  got  religion,  Mose?" 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS  223 

Mose  studied  a  moment,  then  looked  down  at 
his  black  toes  and  said,  ruminatingly : 

"I  don't  think  it  ketched.  Gyp.  But  relig'n 
or  no  relig'n,  I  don't  want  no  niggeh  preachers 
dewourin'  mah  poultry.  A  hones'  coon  gotter 
stan'  up  foh  hisself  or  dey'll  eat  de  ruff  off'n  de 
shanty.  Yer  don't  know  dem  chicken-grabs. 
Dey  didn't  leave  bones  'nuff  o'  dat  ole  rooster  to 
make  a  huskin'  peg." 

It  was  hard  for  Gyp  to  become  interested  in 
these  reminiscences  of  the  loquacious  negro.  He 
longed  to  inquire  of  Mose  what  he  knew  of  the 
Moncures,  and  to  what  part  of  the  North  they 
had  gone ;  but  the  noisy  old  fellow  did  not  give 
him  a  chance  to  do  more  than  respond  indiffer- 
ently to  his  chatter.  He  kept  up  his  cascades  of 
nothings,  haw-hawing  and  yah-yahing,  shaking 
his  shock  of  snowy  wool,  tittering,  gibbering  and 
supposedly  entertaining  the  young  man,  until  he 
came  in  sight  of  his  lowly  cabin. 

"Di-nah !  Di-nah !"  he  called  in  stentorian  tones, 
when  Gyp,  looking  up  saw  a  mountain  of  flesh 
almost  filling  the  doorway. 

"Dat's  Dinah.  She's  mah  angel,"  and  Mose 
pushed  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  door. 
Gyp  saw  a  great,  round,  wrinkled  face  and  be- 
turbaned  head;  a  body  plump,  chunky  as  if  she 
had  been  put  together  in  three  spheroidal  sec- 
tions. She  was  fatness  and  amiability  personi- 
fied. Her  thick,  pudgy  arms  hung  out  and  en- 
closed her  like  parentheses. 


224*  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Don't  I  done  gone  tele  ye  she's  mah  angel?" 
Mose  repeated  with  more  emphasis,  feeling  that 
Gyp  had  not  been  sufficiently  enthusiastic  over 
Dinah's   charms.     Gyp  hastened  to  respond: 

"When  yer  gittin',  Mose,  there's  nothin'  like 
gittin'  a  plenty." 

"Speakin'  about  them  there  Moncures,  Gyp," 
Mose  said  a  little  later,  'if  I  wah  asked  for  mah 
opinyun  I'd  hafter  say  they  went  either  Norf  or 
Souf,  or  somewhar  else  afteh  de  wah.  Y'  see  its 
a  long  ways  to  get  anywheres  f'm  hyah.  I  spec 
Dinah  knows.  Dat  woman  she  knows  mor'n  de 
queen  o'  de  Shebites.  She  kin  tell  yer  how  de 
camel  got  fru  de  eye  o'  de  needle  and  backed  out 
ag'in.  Dar  haint  jes  nuffin  dat  dat  woman  don't 
know  about  g'ogafy." 

Gyp  was  fairly  beside  himself  with  joy  at  the 
rich  opportunity  that  opened  before  him  at  La- 
suda.  His  fellowship  with  Aida  had  shown  him 
his  need  of  "larnin."  If  he  could  only  "han'le 
langwidge"  he  felt  that  she  would  have  one  rea- 
son less  for  not  regarding  him  favorably.  Even 
in  this  he  congratulated  himself  that  he  had  made 
considerable  progress  since  the  days  of  the 
"school  in  the  grove."  Then  there  was  Miss 
Larue.  What  a  charm  she  was  to  him.  He  had 
heard  about  the  Queen  of  Sheba  ;  but  he  did  not 
know  that  she  had  turned  school  teacher  and  had 
come  away  up  to  Lasuda.  But  there  she  was, 
sure  enough.  And  she  was  to  be  his  instructor ! 
No  wonder  the  days  and  the  weeks  and  the  years 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS  2£5 

rolled  swiftly  away ;  and  never  was  Mohammedan 
more  devoted  to  his  prayers  than  was  Gyp  to  his 
tasks.  But  in  all  the  school  there  was  nothing 
quite  so  attractive  as  Miss  Larue.  No  smiles 
were  quite  like  hers,  and  no  words  touched  his 
heart  like  the  words  of  his  beautiful  teacher.  He 
felt  himself  drawn  irresistibly  toward  her.  She 
had  always  a  good  word  in  the  halls  when  they 
met,  always  a  winsome  smile  when  he  came  to  re- 
cite his  lessons.  In  the  evenings  they  would  sit 
on  the  piazza  and  she  would  tell  him  the  story  of 
the  trees,  and  when  the  storms  broke  over  the 
mountains  she  would  talk  to  him  of  air  currents, 
of    electrical    forces    and    atmospheric    pressure. 

On  clear  nights  their  talk  was  of  the  stars. 
In  the  time  of  their  blossoming  she  told  him  of 
the  habitat  and  fellowship  of  flowers.  She  ex- 
plained to  him  all  about  the  quartz  strata  which 
had  interested  him  the  day  when  they  first  met. 
She  revealed  to  him  the  philosophy  of  coinmon 
things,  and  led  his  inquiring  mind  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  astronomic  lens  into  spaces  where 
stars  grow  dim  and  they  need  no  sun,  neither 
light  of  the  moon  to  shine  there. 

And  one  evening  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  Gyp 
told  his  benefactress  of  his  great  find  in  the 
mountain  cave.  Together  they  talked  about  it, 
and  wondered  how  it  came  there.  They  could 
not  tell ;  they  could  but  theorize.  Miss  Larue 
spoke  of  the  early  adventurers  along  the  Atlan- 
tic  coast  and  of  their  battles  with  the  Indians. 


226  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

She  talked  of  the  Spaniards,  of  the  French,  of 
the  English,  of  the  lost  colony  of  Roanoke,  and 
of  the  treasures  which  the  explorers  found  in 
possession  of  the  aborigines.  She  thought  of 
the  prisoners  carried  into  captivity,  of  possible 
treasure  captured  with  them,  and  of  explorations 
of  which  history  has  said  but  little,  and  surmised 
that  these  conditions  might  account  for  the 
treasure  hidden  in  the  cave.  Then  Gyp  told  her 
what  he  had  resolved  to  do  with  it.  He  would 
devote  this  new-found  riches  to  the  advancement 
of  his  people.  He  would  build  institutions  of 
learning;  he  would  establish  libraries,  he  would 
erect  churches  that  the  ignorance  and  irreligion 
of  his  people  might  be  superseded  by  something 
better.  Thus  they  would  talk  in  the  quiet  of  the 
evenings,  dream  their  dream  of  coming  years. 

Next  to  Aida  there  was  no  one  like  Miss  Larue. 
And  sometimes  as  she  talked  to  him,  his  mind 
would  wander  away  into  the  vague  and  mys- 
terious Northland,  there  to  search  through  great 
cities  and  quiet  hamlets  for  the  desire  of  his 
heart.  Then  his  mind  would  return  to  his  fair 
preceptress,  and  he  wondered  how  God  had  ever 
made  two  creatures  so  beautiful,  and  how  gracious 
it  was  of  him  to  give  them  both  to  him  as  friends. 

But  with  all  the  happiness  that  came  to  him 
as  he  saw  the  development  of  his  mind  and  his 
gradual  triumph  over  those  things  which  once 
seemed  so  vague  and  far  away,  he  had,  neverthe- 
less, one  thorn  in  the  flesh.     It  was  not  Habor 


A  RIFT  IN  THE   CLOUDS  227 

or  Snags  Groucher,  for  he  knew  not  yet  of  their 
secret  plottings  against  the  brightness  of  his  fu- 
ture. It  was  Sam  Crew,  a  shameless  young 
scapegrace,  who  had  been  sowing  thorns  in  Gyp's 
path  ever  since  he  came  to  Lasuda.  He  permitted 
no  opportunity  to  pass  without  a  contemptuous 
remark  or  some  cruel  insinuation  about  Gyp's 
father  being  hung.  He  was  coarse,  profane  and 
vulgar  of  speech,  and  because  Gyp  refused  to  be 
drawn  into  any  controversy  with  him  it  made  him 
all  the  more  tantalizing  and  offensive. 

Gyp  had  gone  to  the  woods  to  study  the  life 
that  he  met  there  and  to  bring  home  questions 
for  Miss  Larue  to  answer.  Sam  came  along  while 
Gyp  was  in  a  brown  study  over  an  orchid  which 
he  was  examining. 

"Wat  yer  moonin'  about,  glowerin'  there  like 
a  stone  dog  on  th'  doorstep  .f"'  Sam  inquired,  con- 
temptuously. 

Heretofore  Gyp  had  paid  no  attention  to  his 
sneering  remarks  ;  but  as  they  were  now  by  them- 
selves in  the  woods  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  forbearance  had  its  limitations,  and  he  re- 
plied : 

"The  woods  are  as  free  for  gentlemen  as  they 
are  for  boors  and  ruffians  like  you." 

"Then  I  be  a  ruffian,  be  I?"  and  Sam  started 
toward  him  with  a  stick. 

"Put  down  that  stick,  you  coward.  If  you're 
a  man,  show  it." 

"I'll  put  you  down  with  the  stick,  ye  son  of  a 


228  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

catamount,"  and  he  raised  his  arm  to  strike,  but 
before  it  fell  Gyp  leaped  upon  him  and  threw 
him  heavily  to  the  ground. 

"How  do  you  like  that  for  a  stone  dog?" 

"This  is  only  begun,  curse  you." 

"Ye  don't  need  to  curse.     Only  cowards  curse." 

"I  be  a  coward,  be  I.'*  Y'  said  that  once  be- 
fore," and  he  sprang  like  a  wildcat  at  his  an- 
tagonist. Gyp  leaped  to  one  side  and  landed  a 
blow  which  sent  him  reeling  against  a  large  white- 
oak  tree.  Sam  was  now  furious.  He  stood  a 
moment  with  his  back  to  the  tree  glaring  at  Gyp 
and  using  the  most  frightful  oaths. 

"If  ye  would  put  more  strength  into  your  arms 
and  less  into  yer  cussin'  ye  wouldn't  need  to  lean 
against  a  tree  for  support.  Save  your  wind  and 
come  on,"  came  tantalizingly  from  the  lips  of  his 
adversary. 

Sam  needed  no  second  invitation.  He  came 
again ;  this  time  a  little  more  cautiously.  He 
aimed  a  terrific  blow  at  Gyp's  face,  which  he 
parried,  and  responded  to  with  a  blow  which  sent 
Sam  rolling  among  the  leaves.  But  he  was  on 
his  feet  in  a  moment  and  back  at  Gyp  with  the 
fury  of  a  wild  animal.  His  anger  was  more  vio- 
lent, but  his   strength  was  noticeably  weaker. 

"Yer  losin'  yer  grip,  Sam.  Ye've  swore  about 
all  the  oaths  you  know.  Suppose  you  do  a  little 
fightin'  for  a  change." 

"There's  fer  yer  taunt !"  and  Gyp  received  a 
blow  which  dazed  him   for  a  moment,  and  as  he 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS  229 

staggered  under  it,  Sam  caught  him  and  threw 
him  to  the  ground.  "Now  I've  got  yer !"  and  he 
reached  for  his  throat,  but  Gyp  turned  him, 
leaped  upon  him,  and,  pressing  his  arms  into 
the  ground,  hissed: 

"Here  you'll  stay,  Sam  Crew,  until  you  promise 
me  two  things :  that  you'll  treat  me  as  a  gentle- 
man and  quit  swearing." 

"I'll  see  ye  in—" 

"No  you  won't.  Ye  see  me  right  here ;  and 
right  here  I'm  going  to  stay  till  ye  promise." 

"I'll  stay  here  forever,  afore  I  promise." 

"Well  Sam,  it's  vacation  and  I'll  stay  right 
with  you." 

"Let  me  turn  over." 

"No,  sir.  You'll  not  move  one  inch  until  you 
promise.  You've  treated  me  as  mean  as  any  man 
could  treat  another.  Now  we're  going  to  have 
it  out.  It's  going  to  be  settled  right  here  and 
now." 

"Let  me  up,  and  we'll  fight  it  out." 

"We've  fought  it  out ;  and  if  I'm  a  stone  dog, 
you're  the  under  dog  in  the  fight.  You've  done 
all  the  barlcin'  at  me  you're  a  goin'  to." 

Sam  began  to  snort  and  swear ;  but  Gyp  placed 
his  hand  over  his  mouth  and  said :  "If  I  can't  stop 
your  swearing  one  way  I  will  another." 

"Play  fair,  Gyp,"  Sam  protested,  as  Gyp  re- 
moved his  hand. 

"I've  played  fair.  I've  stood  your  taunts  now 
for  almost  four  years   and  never  resented  them. 


230  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

When  I  threw  you  a  moment  ago  I  gave  you  a 
fair  chance  to  come  at  me  again.  I  might  have 
choked  you,  as  you  intended  to  do  to  me.  More 
than  that  I  might  have  given  you  such  a  beating 
as  you  would  not  forget  as  long  as  you  live. 
But  I've  spared  ye.  I've  played  fair,  Sam,  and 
you'll  promise  me  or  here  you'll  stay  all  night 
with  your  back  on  the  moss  and  Gyp  Stybright 
roostin'  on  your  stomach.  Do  just  as  you've  a 
mind  to ;  I'm  in  no  hurry."  And  he  noncha- 
lantly took  a  cracker  from  his  pocket  and  began 
eating. 

"Darn  ye." 

"  'Tain't  wuth  while,  Sam." 

"Lemme  up." 

"Then  promise." 

"I'll  not  promise." 

"Then  j^ou're  in  for  it." 

"I'll  holler  fer  help." 

"The  moment  you  holler  I'll  jam  a  handful  of 
moss  into  your  mouth.  No,  Sam,  you'll  do  no 
hollerin'." 

"Lemme  up,  will  yer,  ye're  hurtin'  me  stum- 
mick." 

Gyp  took  another  cracker  from  his  pocket  and 
craunchcd  away  in  silence,  paying  no  heed  to 
Sam's  demand. 

"Get  ofF'n  me  stummick,  I  tell  ye!" 

"I'll  get  off  when  ye  promise.  Till  then  I 
stick." 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS  231 

"But  ye'r  hurtin'  me." 

"It'll  quit  hurtin'  when  I  get  off,  and  I'll  get 
off  when  ye  promise." 

"Be  je  goin'  t'  sit  ther'  forever.'"' 

"Dunno,  Sam,  it's  up  to  you." 

"Well,  I'll  promise  to  treat  ye  right  if  ye'li 
get  off." 

"Thank  ye,  Sam ;  now  ye're  half  through." 

"Then  ease  up  a  little." 

"Not  till  you  promise  to  quit  swearin'." 

"It's  none  o'  yer  business  whether  I  swear  or 
not.  If  I  treat  yer  right,  that's  all  yer  oughter 
ast  of  a  feller." 

"It's  wicked  t'  swear ;  and  you've  hurt  Miss 
Larue's  feelin's  and  the  feelin's  of  lots  of  the 
boys  and  girls.  You've  been  a  nuisance  with 
your  bad  language;  and  here  I  sit  till  ye  give 
your  word  and  honor  that  ye'll  quit  forever." 

"Suppose  I  promise  an'  then  break  over?" 

"Then  you  make  yourself  a  liar." 

"D'ye  call  me  a  liar.?" 

"No,  Sam.  I  said  that  if  you  broke  your 
promise  you'd  make  yourself  one.  And  it's  up 
to  you  to  say  whether  you'll  break  over  or  not." 

"Well,  if  ye're  not  a  goin'  to  git  off'n  my 
stummick  till  I  promise,  here  goes." 

"Then  you've  quit,  good  and  for  all.'"' 

"Yes." 

"And  you  won't  take  it  back  when  you  get  up  ?" 

"No.     Oh,  Gyp !  git  off'n  me  stummick." 


232  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"All  right,  Sam,  and  here's  my  hand.     Now  let 
us  be  friends." 
"Well,  d— " 
"Sam!" 
"I  promise.     Here's  me  claw." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  DIVERTED  JOURNEY 

When  Col.  Moncure  and  his  daughter  left  the 
North  Carolina  mountains  at  the  close  of  the  war 
their  purpose  was  to  go  directly  North  and  visit 
the  scenes  of  the  Colonel's  boyhood.  But  after 
they  had  bidden  farewell  to  the  friends  of  their 
camp  life,  and  had  started  on  their  way,  Aida 
expressed  a  strong  desire  to  see  their  southern 
home  once  more.  This  necessitated  a  change  in 
their  plans,  and,  unknown  to  their  friends,  they 
turned  their  faces  southward.  It  was  a  sad  home- 
going  for  them  both.  They  found  Ichabod  writ- 
ten everywhere.  They  saw  only  windowless  walls 
where  they  had  left  a  beautiful  mansion.  Par- 
titions of  rooms  had  fallen  and  lay  in  heaps  of 
rubbish.  The  parlor,  once  the  scene  of  luxury 
and  delight,  was  but  a  melancholy  pit,  filled  with 
the  debris  of  partitions  and  fallen  floors.  The 
ragged  remnants  of  foundations  spoke  only  of 
desolation.  Wild  vines  clambered  over  the  ruins 
in  a  vain  endeavor  to  hide  their  spoliation  from 
the  gaze  of  their  former  masters.  After  sorrow- 
fully viewing  the  waste  and  wreck  of  their  once 
lovely  home  they  went  over  to  the  graves  in  the 
garden.     It  was  like  going  through   the  field  of 

233 


234  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

the  slothful  and  by  the  vineyard  of  the  man  void 
of  understanding.  "It  was  all  grown  over  with 
thorns  and  the  face  thereof  was  covered  with 
nettles."  The  stone  wall  was  broken  down — 
carted  away  to  make  defenses  against  the  north- 
ern arms.  The  beautiful  flowers  had  vanished 
and  the  precious  mounds  which  marked  the  rest- 
ing places  of  their  beloved  dead,  had  disappeared 
— rooted  up  by  vandal  swine  or  tramped  by  pred- 
atory cattle  into  the  earth.  If  Moncure  and 
Aida  wept  when  they  said  farewell  to  this  sacred 
place,  they  had  more  reason  for  weeping  now. 
With  heavy  hearts  and  unrestrained  tears  they 
turned  to  the  weather-worn  cabin  of  one  of  their 
former  servants,  old  IVIammy  Rachel.  To  their 
delight  they  found  it  occupied  and  the  door 
standing  open.  The  wrinkled  and  lame  old  negro 
turned  her  face  toward  them  as  they  entered, 
and  called : 

"Who  dat  at  de  doo',  stannin'  dar  in  de  light?" 

"Don't  you  know  me,  mammy  .^  Take  a  good 
look,"  INIoncure  answered. 

"Ah  don't  know  yer;  yo'  face  all  dim  in  de 
shadder." 

"Then  maybe  you  will  know  this  young  lady.'"' 
and  he  laid  his  hand  upon  Aida's  shoulder. 

"Mammy's  eyes  mos'  gone.  De  yearth  an'  de 
sky  mos'  bof  shet  out.  De  light  am  dim  an'  I 
caj^n't  rec'nize  ye.  Tell  me  who  yo'  be,  an'  who 
be  de  gyrl.!^" 

"God  bless  you,  Rachel;  I  did  not  think  you 


THE  DIVERTED  JOURNEY         235 

would  ever  forget  Colonel  Moncure  and  Aida,  the 
little  girl  whom  jou  nursed  when  a  baby." 

"Yes,  mammy,  dear  old  soul,  I'm  Aida;  but 
you  see  I'm  quite  a  young  lady." 

"De  Ian'  o'  goodness :  de  Lawd  be  prais'd !" 
and  she  tottered  over,  leaning  on  the  top  of  her 
staff,  and  threw  her  arms  about  Aida  in  an 
ecstasy  of  welcome.  "De  good  Lawd  bress  ye, 
Aida !  Ah  nebbeh  'spected  to  see  yo'  ag'in.  De 
Lawd  open  mah  pore  ole  eyes  to  see  yo'  bressed 
face  once  moah.  Bress  de  Lawd,  oh  mah  soul, 
an'  fo'get  not  all  his  bennyfits !" 

"We're  awfully  glad  to  see  you,  too,  you  dear 
old  faithful  mammy,"  the  young  lady  responded. 

"We've  thought  of  you  so  often  during  these 
awful  years.  Wasn't  it  good  of  the  Lord  to 
spare  us  when  so  many  brave  ones  have  fallen 
since  we  last  saw  each  other?" 

"Oh,  chile !  chile !  de  wah  was  not  f oh  sweet 
young  eyes  lak  yoahs.  Dead  men  an'  coffins ; 
coffins  an'  dead  men.  Fightin'  an'  fiahs,  fiahs  an' 
fightin' ;  but,  praise  de  Lawd  it's  all  obeh  now, 
and  Ah  seed  ye  bof  befo'  Ah  gone  died.  Now, 
Lawd,  let  thy  suvvant  depawt  in  peace.  De 
bloody  wah  am  obeh,  but  mah  boys  am  gone ! 
Sambo  an'  Pete  an'  Andy — all  gone !  Mammy 
lef  alone,  honey,  all  erlone.  Only  yo'  come  back. 
Mebby  de  boys  drap  in  some  day  befo'  Ah  go. 
But  mammy  hain't  got  long  to  wait.  Ah'm  jes' 
a  sittin'  hyah  in  de  shadders  waitin'  fo'  de  Lawd 
to   come.     Oh,   mah  boys !  mah  boys !"   and  the 


236  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks,  but  whether  at  the 
sorrow  of  parting  with  them,  or  at  the  joy  of 
the  hoped-for  reunion,  Moncure  did  not  inquire. 
He  said,  softly : 

"The  Lord  comfort  and  support  you  for  the 
boys  you  have  given  up  for  the  old  flag." 

"He  done  gone  been  good  to  me.  De  Lawd 
been  wid  me  mawnin',  noon  an'  night.  Oh,  Ah 
been  in  Beulah  Ian'  suah !  De  shinin'  ones  come 
an'  jes'  fill  mah  hawt  an'  fill  dish  ole  cabin  wid 
glory.  Dem  boys  all  Linkum  sojers,  an'  Ah's 
gwine  see  'em  ag'in.  Ah's  waitin',  Ah's  waitin' ! 
Praise  de  Lawd ;  he's  comin',  yes,  he's  a  comin' 
soon,  an'  mammy  won't  hab  long  to  wait  twell 
she  see  huh  boys  ag'in.  Rachel  been  a  mownin' 
foh  huh  chilluns ;  but,  Kunnel,  Ah's  gwine  see  'em 
an'  de  Lawd  gwine  wipe  away  all  teahs  f'm  mah 
eyes." 

"Yes,  Rachel,  we'll  meet  our  dear  ones  again ; 
so  don't  cry !  Weeping  may  endure  for  a  night, 
but  joy  Cometh  in  the  morning.  Till  then,  poor 
troubled  heart,  may  the  'shining  ones'  be  with 
you." 

"Nebbeh  feah ;  they'll  be  wid  me,  Kunnel. 
Dey's  been  right  hyah  in  dish  cabin  when  de 
stahs  shine  an'  when  de  sunbeams  come  in  at  de 
doo'." 

"Now,  mammy,  if  you'll  excuse  me  for  a  little 
while,  I'd  like  to  look  after  a  little  business.  I 
will  leave  Aida  with  you  till  I  return,  which  will 
be  soon." 


THE  DIVERTED  JOURNEY         237 

When  her  father  had  gone  out,  Aida  looked 
up  into  the  tear-stained  face,  and  said : 

"Dear  papa  is  concerned  about  mamma's  grave 
and  the  grave  of  my  little  brother.  They  are  in 
a  shameful  condition." 

"Come  sit  on  mah  knees,  honey,  'till  mammy 
talk  wid  yer,"  Rachel  replied,  drying  her  tears 
on  her  apron,  and  endeavoring  to  forget  her  sor- 
row, "De  graves  all  gwine  be  open  some  day, 
honey ;  an'  yo'  own  deah  mammy  won't  be  in  de 
gyarden  no  moah.  We's  all  gwine  home.  But, 
Lawdy,  chile,  how  yo's  grow'd,  an'  how  yo'  look 
lak  yo'  deah  mammy  gone  to  de  glory  Ian'  long 
ago.  Ah,  chile,  suah  Ah  tho't  yo'  nebbeh  gwine 
come  back  to  me  no  moah ;  but  heah  yo'  be.  An' 
Ah  praise  Him  fo'  it." 

"I  wanted  to  come  back  to  see  you  and  see 
our  once  beautiful  home ;  but  it's  all  gone.  I 
suppose  I  ought  not  to  murmur,  when  your  loss 
has  been  so  much  greater  than  ours.  I  have  dear 
papa  left.  Rachel,  you  know  we  had  so  many 
nice  pictures  on  the  walls  when  we  left,  and 
mamma  had  collected  so  many  rare  and  curious 
things  in  her  travels.  Do  you  know  if  they  were 
all  burned.'"' 

"Bress  ye,  honey,  ebberything  went.  Yo'  nice 
books  an'  picters  an'  cawpets,  dishes  an'  cuh- 
tains.  De  fiah  sweep  clean,  sweet  chile.  Mah 
little  Aidah's  room  an'  all  its  nice  things,  an' 
de  Kunnel's  papers.  Nuffin  lef  'cept  jes'  walls 
an'  ashes  an'  sorrow." 


238  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Isn't  war  an  awful  thing?  Why  do  men  want 
to  do  such  wicked  things?" 

"It's  Satan,  chile.  It's  de  debbil.  But  soon  as 
men  git  de  Lawd  in  dar  hawts  de  swords  gwine 
be  beat  into  plowpints  an'  de  speahs  into  grub- 
bin'  hooks." 

"Well,  I  wish  I  could  see  the  factories  started 
now.  I'd  help  gather  up  the  swords  and  the 
spears." 

"An'  old  mammy  he'p  yo'  fro'  'em  into  de 
meltin'  pot,  an'  mould  de  plowpints." 

"Say,  mammy,  I've  got  something  good  to  tell 
you." 

"What  yo'  gwine  tell  me,  honey?" 

"I've  got  a  beau  !" 

"Yo  chile !  W'y  bress  yo'  hawt,  honey,  it 
hain't  hawdly  yisterday  sence  Ah  fed  ye  on  a 
bottle !" 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !"  and  Aida's  merry  laugh  rang 
through  the  cabin.  "But,  mammy,  see  what  a 
young  lady  I  am  now.  Don't  you  think  I'm  old 
enough  for  someone  to  love  me?" 

"De  whole  wo'ld  been  a  lovin'  ye,  chile,  ebbeh 
sence  yo'  was  bohn ;  but  yo'  seem  to  me  jes'  lak 
a  li'l  baby  cryin'  obeh  yo'  fust  teeth." 

"Were  you  ever  in  love,  mammy?" 

"Me?  Ah  fell  in  lub  wid  Jake  when  Ah  no 
mo'n  fo'teen." 

"In  love  at  fourteen?  Oh,  mammy,  you  were 
worse  than  I.  Where  was  your  mother's  bottle 
at  that  time?" 


THE  DIVERTED  JOURNEY         239 

"Go  long,  chile.  Ye's  makin'  spo't  o'  yo'  ole 
mammy." 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  re- 
turn of  the  Colonel.  They  then  bade  their  old 
household  servant  good  bye  and  turned  away  from 
the  cabin  and  the  old  home,  home  no  more,  and 
made  their  way  farther  south  through  fields  made 
desolate  by  the  war,  down  to  New  Orleans.  Here 
they  waited  for  some  days  for  a  steamer  for  St. 
Augustine,  and  from  there  they  made  their  way 
northward,  and  then  acoss  the  ocean  to  Spain. 
The  Colonel  felt  a  yearning  to  see  again  many 
of  the  scenes  which  he  and  his  dear  wife  had 
visited  years  ago,  and  here,  and  in  other  eastern 
lands,  he  and  his  interesting  daughter  gave  them- 
selves up  to  travel  and  study. 

If  they  had  sought  to  escape  from  the  wrath 
of  Habor  they  could  not  have  hidden  their  trail 
more  successfully,  nor  have  lost  themselves  so 
completely  in  this  vast,  tangled  wilderness  of  a 
world.  But  they  knew  nothing  of  the  vengeance 
that  was  nursing  itself  into  a  frenzy  away  back 
in  Camp  Mecune. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

AHITHOPHEL     FALLS     SHORT     ON     HIS 

COUNSEL 

School  days  at  Lasuda  were  over,  and  as  Gyp 
was  about  to  descend  the  piazza  steps  he  turned 
to  wave  a  last  farewell  to  teachers  and  school- 
mates. Miss  Larue,  his  ever  faithful  friend, 
placed  a  snow-white  missive  in  his  hand  and, 
closing  his  fingers  over  it,  whispered : 

"Do  not  open  till  you  reach  home." 

"Thank  you,  very  much.  Good  bye.  Miss 
Larue." 

At  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  met  Sam  Crew. 
Sam  was  very  much  of  a  changed  man  since  the 
day  when  he  and  Gyp  fought  their  differences 
to  a  finish  in  the  woods.  He  had  learned  to  treat 
all  his  schoolmates  with  respect  and  even  cor- 
diality. He  had  quit  swearing,  and  was  trying  to 
live  as  a  gentleman  should.  The  school  wondered 
at  the  change,  but  knew  not  the  reason  of  it. 
And  now  as  the  boys  were  about  to  separate. 
Gyp  extended  his  hand  with  the  remark: 

"Good  bye,  Sam.  Hope  lots  of  good  things 
will  come  your  way." 

"I'm  not  ready  to  say  good  bye.  I'm  going 
along  with  you  a  short  distance." 

340 


AHITHOPHEL  FALLS  SHORT      241 

"Glad  to  have  you,  Sam." 

"Wat  you  goin'  to  do  now  that  you  are 
through?"  Sam  inquired  after  a  long  tramp  over 
the  hills,  when  they  had  sat  down  on  a  spur  over- 
looking a  splendid  reach  of  mountain,  plain  and 
winding  stream. 

Gyp  hesitated.  He  looked  off  to  Avhere  a  few 
houses  flecked  the  far-away  landscape,  like  sheep 
that  were  newly  shown,  and  replied,  confidentially : 

"Sam,  you've  kept  your  word  with  me.  I've 
trusted  you,  and  I  believe  you  have  done  the 
same  with  me.  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something 
that  I  never  told  anyone.  I've  got  the  sweetest 
little  girl  on  earth." 

"You,  a  girl?" 

"That's  just  what  I  have." 

"Miss  Larue?" 

"No,  not  Miss  Larue ;  but  you  bet  she  is  the 
best  woman  I  ever  saw — except  one." 

"Who's  the  one,  Gyp;  out  with  it?" 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  her.  Don't  live  in  these 
diggin's." 

"Then  where?" 

"I  wish  I  knew." 

"Aw,  Gyp ;  come  off  your  perch.  Don't  pre- 
tend you're  trustin'  me  when  you're  tellin'  me 
nothing." 

"Honest,  Sam.  I  don't  know  where  she  is,  and 
I  would  give  anything  if  I  did." 

"Run  away  and  left  you  with  cold  feet?" 

"Not  that ;  but  she's  gone." 


M2  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Well,  then,  I'd  let  her  run.  Girls  that  run 
away  from  fellers  ain't  worth  worryin'  over.  Let 
her  go.  Gyp." 

"The  counsel  of  Ahithophel  is  not  good  at  this 
time." 

"And  who's  Ahithophel.?     Her  daddy.?" 

"Oh,  some  old  Jew  fellow." 

"You  seem  to  hanker  after  the  girl,  don't 
you.?" 

"Now  you're  getting  warm,  Sam.  That's  the 
exact  truth.     But  it  isn't  all  the  truth." 

"Then  give  us  the  rest  of  it,  and  that  Ahitho- 
phel Jew  feller  may  change  his  mind." 

"It's  about  this  way,  Sam.  In  war  times  Aida 
— that's  her  name — and  I  were  for  some  months 
in  the  mountain  camp.  Just  as  the  war  came  to 
an  end  my  uncle  died,  leaving  me  his  heir.  I 
was  obliged  by  certain  conditions  of  the  will  to 
remain  on  the  farm  for  a  length  of  time.  Of 
course  the  camp  broke  up  and  I  saw  her  no 
more." 

"And  she  didn't  leave  you  no  word?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"Nor  write  you  a  letter  nor  nothin'.?  " 

"Nothing  since  that  day." 

"Well,  how  in  Sam  Hill  are  you  going  to  get 
her  when  you  don't  know  where  she  is.?" 

"That's  the  thing  that's  bothering  me." 

"Friends  know  nothing.?" 

"Not  a  thing  except  what  old  Perk  Thompson 
told  me." 


AHITHOPHEL  FALLS  SHORT       243 

"What's  'Old  Sky  Blue'  know  about  it?" 

"Perk  was  one  of  our  band;  and  he  said  that 
when  they  broke  camp  Aida  Moncure  and  her 
father  went  North." 

"What  part  of  the  North?" 

"Perk  couldn't  tell." 

"North's  a  big  country." 

"But  a  mighty  poor  country  for  a  pretty  girl 
like  Aida  to  hide  in." 

"How's  that?" 

"Sam,  you  can't  keep  a  girl  as  lovely  as  she 
is  hid.  All  the  people  in  the  town'll  know  her. 
Oh,  you  just  go  into  any  town,  New  York,  for 
instance,  ask:  'Where's  that  girl  with  the  heav- 
enly eyes,  cheeks  like  the  sunset,  voice  as  if  all 
the  angels  had  pooled  their  sweetness  and  made 
her  a  present  of  it' ;  and  if  she's  in  that  town, 
every  young  man'll  jump  to  his  feet  and  say, 
'I  know :  come  with  me ;  I'll  show  you  where  she 
lives.'  " 

"Yes,  and  maybe  find  her  some  other  fellow's 
wife,  with  lots  of  little  baby  togs  in  the  laundry." 

"Sam,  shame  on  you.  Got  no  poetry  in  your 
soul?  No,  sir;  I  won't  believe  it.  She's  waiting 
for  me  somewhere." 

"And  how  are  you  going  to  find  out?" 

"I'm  going  to  search  the  cities  till  I  find  her. 
You  asked  me  a  moment  ago  what  I  was  going 
to  do  now.     My  business  is  to  find  that  girl." 

"Gyp,  it's  folly." 

"If    you    knew    her    you    wouldn't    think    so. 


244  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

Solomon  would  give  all  his  glory  for  a  girl  like 
Aida.  Yes,  and  swap  his  harem,  too,  for  one 
good  look.  Sam,  you  just  come  around  in  a  few 
years  and  you'll  find  me  the  happiest  man  on  the 
top  of  this  footstool." 

"Well,  Gyp,  good  bye.  Get  her  if  you  can. 
I  wish  you  good  luck." 

"I  can,  and  I  will.  If  the  earth  holds  her,  I'll 
find  her." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk  it,"  and  he  arose  and 
took  his  schoolmate  by  the  hand.  "Good  bye ;  I 
must  go.  You've  made  a  man  of  me,  and  I  want 
to  tell  you  so  before  we  part.  But  I  guess  I'm 
the  first  fellow  that  was  ever  reformed  by  an- 
other fellow  sitting  on  his  stomach.  So  long, 
old  boy." 

"So  long,  Sam." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SNAGS  GROUCHER  REDIVIVUS 

Gyp  walked  over  the  thin  upper  edge  of  the 
peak  and  came  to  Sunset  Rock.  Two  thousand 
feet  below  him  swept  a  narrow  valley,  where,  at 
the  foot  of  the  chasm,  the  tall  pines  and  sinewy 
oaks  looked  like  seaweed.  A  narrow  ribbon  of 
water  crept  sinuously  out  of  sight,  its  shores 
fringed  with  masses  of  reeds  like  tufts  of  moss, 
so  very  far  away  they  were.  Gyp  feasted  his 
soul  upon  the  scene.  Around  him  were  the  wood- 
anemone  and  the  passion  flower,  the  yellow  or- 
chid and  the  fire-pink.  Far  below  him  a  ven- 
turesome vulture  spread  its  dark  wings  and 
soared  off  into  the  infinite.  Round  and  round  on 
level  pinions  it  floated,  with  this  graceful  river 
of  silver  more  than  a  thousand  feet  beneath  it. 
As  Gyp  sat  drinking  in  the  sublimity  of  the 
scene,  he  was  startled  by  a  scream  which  rent  the 
air  as  with  a  knife  blade.  He  jumped  to  his 
feet  and  turned  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
sound  came.  But  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen. 
He  listened,  but  there  was  only  the  silence  of  the 
everlasting  hills. 

He  turned  again  to  the  vision  before  him,  so 
vast,   so    restful ;   unbroken   by   crag   or    cliff   or 

245 


246  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

populous  city,  unscarred  by  iron  rail  or  mast  of 
vessel.  It  was  nature  at  rest.  The  aspiring 
mountain  masses  overreached  each  other  in  their 
eagerness  to  touch  the  sapphire  fringes  on  the 
garments  of  God.  Then  came  that  awful  scream 
once  more,  as  inharmonious  with  the  scene  as  the 
devil's  entry  into  paradise.  The  cry  seemed 
nearer  than  before  and  chilled  the  blood  in  his 
veins.  He  went  down  the  road  a  short  distance 
to  a  clump  of  foliage ;  but  found  nothing  to  re- 
ward his  search.  He  was  familiar  with  the  cry 
of  the  catamount ;  but  this  was  another  cry.  It 
was  the  voice  of  a  human  being,  but  where  it 
came  from  he  could  not  tell.  He  called,  but  there 
was  no  response.  Then  he  turned  back  to  the 
Rock  once  more.  It  was  a  glorious  sight  to  fall 
in  with,  and  it  seemed  as  if  his  soul  was  held 
there.  He  thought  of  the  might  of  Him  whose 
"strength  setteth  fast  the  mountains."  That 
morning  he  had  heard  jNIiss  Larue  quote :  "The 
strength  of  the  hills  is  His,"  and  he  felt  sure  that 
he  knew  now  something  of  its  meaning.  Away 
beyond  the  little,  tin-foil  river  he  saw  red  patches 
of  earth  lying  like  foxes'  skins  on  the  ground,  and 
on  one  of  these  patches  a  cabin  home  sat  squat, 
like  Milton's  toad,  but  the  sons  of  toil  who 
wrought  in  the  umber  earth  were  invisible  to  the 
naked  eye.  The  strange  color  of  the  earth  re- 
called to  mind  his  experience  on  the  Red  Swan's 
Neck  years  ago,  and  his  thoughts  were  away  on 
impossible    explorations,    when    that    wild    voice 


SNAGS  GROUCHER  REDIVIVUS     247 

again  broke  the  glorious  stillness.     This  time  it 

seemed   very   near   to   him,   and   sang   in   rasping 

tones : 

Toads  and  bats  for  the  adder's  den; 
Rue  and  dew  for  the  poison  fen; 
Hell  for  the  souls  of  bloody  men; 

Blood-y  men,  blood-y  men, 
Hell  for  the  souls  of  blood-y  men. 

The  words  were  rasped  in  a  fearful  monotone, 
which  was  punctuated  by  that  unearthly  scream 
which  Gyp  had  already  heard  thrice. 

Turning  in  the  direction  of  the  sound  he  saw, 
coming  up  the  path,  a  gaunt,  witch-like  creature, 
bent  half  over,  leaning  heavily  on  the  top  of  her 
staff.  Her  hands  shook  as  if  with  the  palsy, 
making  her  staff  tremble  as  she  leaned  upon  it. 
She  was  clad  in  a  black  robe,  girt  about  the 
waist  with  a  red  sash  whose  ends  hung  almost  to 
her  feet.  A  blue  sun-bonnet  fell  back  on  her 
shoulders,  bringing  her  sharp,  angular  features 
into  outline.  Her  hair  hung  loosely  on  either 
side  and  was  pushed  behind  her  large  florid  ears. 
As  the  winds  dallied  with  it,  it  was  tossed  in  drifts 
across  her  face  or  over  her  shoulders.  She 
walked  slowly,  looking  from  side  to  side,  shaking 
her  cane  with  her  palsied  hands  and  keeping 
step  to  that  gruesome  song: 

Toads  and  bats  for  the  adder*o  den. 

Gyp  took  a  step  backward,  gazed  intently 
upon  her  for  a  moment,  and  shuddered: 


248  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Snags  Groucher,  or  I'm  a  ghost!  And  if  it 
is,  I  may  soon  be  one!"  There  he  stood  trans- 
fixed, his  startled  eyes  riveted  upon  her.  "Crazy, 
crazy !  wandering  through  the  mountains  a  maniac 
and  a  terror,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  not  daring 
to  utter  the  words  aloud. 

She  came  on,  humming  that  awful  monologue: 

Blood-y  men,  blood-y  men; 
Hell  and  hate — 

She  looked  up  suddenly  and  stopped.  She  saw 
Gyp  standing  on  that  frightful  precipice  gazing 
directly  upon  her.  Her  eyes  snapped  and 
burned,  and  seemed  to  penetrate  him  like  X-rays. 
She  jammed  her  staff  down  hard  upon  the  earth, 
and  shook  it  back  and  forth  as  she  rasped: 

"Ah-h-h-h-h-h !  Ah-h-h-h-h-h !  Ah-h-h-h-h-h !" 
She  stamped  her  foot  and  shrieked: 

"Blood-y  men,  blood-y  men; 
Hell's  the  place  for  the  blood-y  men." 

Her  burning  eyes  were  upon  him ;  yet  he  never 
flinched  from  that  awful  gaze.  He  knew  that  she 
was  insane,  and  that  he  stood  face  to  face  with 
a  wild  animal.  For  him  there  was  no  escape  ex- 
cept directly  past  her.  She  had  him  at  bay  on 
that  frightful  crag.  He  started  toward  her, 
thinking  to  get  away  as  soon  as  possible  from 
that  imminent  peril.  She  gave  a  little  hop  to- 
ward him  and  uttered  that  blood-curdling: 

"Ah-h-h-h-h-h !    Ah-h-h-h-h-h !    Ah-h-h-h-h-h !" 


SNAGS  GROUCHER  REDIVIVUS     249 

Evidently  she  had  not  recognized  him ;  and  it 
was  not  strange  that  she  did  not,  for  this  fine- 
looking,  well-dressed  man  was  very  different  from 
the  knee-breeched,  bare-foot  lad  she  had  seen 
years  ago.  In  that  lack  of  recognition  Gyp  felt 
that  his  hope  now  lay. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?"  he  in- 
quired sympathetically. 

She  blinked  on  him  a  moment  with  her  search- 
light eyes ;  then  walked  away  a  few  paces ;  turned 
about  and  confronted  him  again,  and,  extending 
her  sharp  nose  and  chin,  she  hissed: 

"Toads  and  bats  for  the  adder's  den; 
Rue  and  dew  for  the  poison   fen — 

"Man !"  she  shrieked,  "Man,  they're  agoin'  to 
roast !  They're  agoin'  to  roast,  down  under  the 
rocks  an'  the  stones  an'  the  graves  an'  the  rotten 
places  where  the  dead  be !" 

"Who  are  going  to  roast?"  Gyp  ventured,  his 
blood  running  cold  at  the  awful  horror  of  her 
declaration. 

"The  men  who  be  keepin'  up  this  war." 

"What  war?" 

"Ah-h-h-h-h-h !  What  war?  Ah-h-h-h-h-h ! 
Out  yander  on  the  Jim  River.  Out  yander  on 
Mish'nary  Ridge.  Ah-h-h-h-h-h!  An'  I'll  see 
the  bonfire  in  hell,  an'  I'll  hear  'em  crackle ! 
My!  My!  My!"  and  she  thrust  her  long, 
skinny  fingers  into  her  tangled  hair  and  shrieked: 


250  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"O   the  war!  the  war!     Blood,  blood  is   on  the 
soul  of  things !" 

"There  is  no  war,"  Gyp  sympathized.  "There 
is  no  fighting  now  on  the  Potomac  or  along  the 
James  River.     The  boys  are  home  now." 

"It's  a  lie!  It's  a  lie!"  She  jabbed  her  staff 
into  the  ground  and  gave  two  or  three  little  hops 
into  the  air.  Her  whole  body  swayed  back  and 
forth  as  she  hissed  through  her  teeth :  "The  fight- 
in'  hain't  over,  damn  'im,  it  hain't  agoin'  to  be 
over.  It's  a  lie.  The  boys  hain't  home.  They're 
in  the  earth,  and  in  the  sea,  and  under  rocks  and 
wrecks  and  bleachin'  out  yander  on  the  mount- 
ings. They're  roastin'  in  fire  and  a  freezin'  in 
ice,  and  the  birds  is  peckin'  them  in  the  woods. 
Me  and  Gineral  Jackson  can  lick  the  hull  North 
and  tear  'em  in  twain  lim'  f 'm  lim'.  D'y  hear  me : 
tear  'em  in  twain." 

"No  doubt  about  it,"  Gyp  assented.  He  felt 
it  was  the  safest  thing  to  do. 

"Say,  I'm  huntin'  a  man!" 

"A  man?  There  are  plenty  of  them  in  the 
mountains." 

"Ah-h-h-h-h-h !  Mighty  few  wuth  skinnin'. 
I'm  after  a  man,  a  little  bare-foot  man.  These 
hands'll  claw  him,  and  rend  him,  and  tear  him, 
and  pull  him  lim'  f'm  lim'." 

"You're  not  much  in  love  with  the  man  you  are 

seeking." 

"Love!  love!  Tha  hain't  no  love  in  hell,  and 
that's  where  I  be.     Have  YOU  seen  him.?"  and 


SNAGS  GROUCHER  REDIVIVUS     251 

she  fixed  her  ghastly-red  eyes  on  Gyp  and  thrust 
her  skinny  forefinger  almost  into  his  face. 

"I  don't  know  whom  you  mean." 

"His  name's  Gyp.  Gyp  Stybright,  curse  him : 
little,  wooly-headed  curse,  bare  head,  bare  feet, 
so  high,"  indicating  with  her  hand.  "He's  the 
man.  Oh,  I'll  get  'im.  I'll  give  him  to  the  eagles, 
the  tumble-bugs  and  the  spotted  snakes." 

A  chill  ran  over  the  young  man.  He  looked 
into  her  eyes  which  seemed  to  burn  in  their 
sockets,  fed  by  an  inextinguishable  hate.  Gyp 
had  never  seen  a  look  so  satanic  or  one  so  terri- 
ble mantle  the  face  of  a  human  being. 

"Where  are  you  going  to  seek  him?"  he  in- 
quired, endeavoring  to  keep  up  a  desultory  con- 
versation, at  the  same  time  trying  to  work  his 
way  backward  from  the  precipice. 

"Over  the  earth ;  into  the  sea ;  up  into  heaven ; 
down  into  hell.  I'll  rake  the  cinders  till  I  find 
him ;  rake  'em ;  rake  'em  till  I  turn  up  his  little 
scorched  soul  in  the  ashes,"  and  with  her  skeleton 
finger  she  stooped  down  and  clawed  the  grass, 
pulling  it  out  by  the  roots  and  separating  the 
blades.  Then  she  flung  it  away.  "Ah-h-h-h-h-h ! 
He's  not  there.  Say,  man !  look  here,"  and  she 
raised  a  flap  on  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  took  out 
a  pistol  and  handed  it  to  him.  "See  that? 
That's  for  Gyp.  Its  full.  Smell  it.  Smells 
good,  don't  it?     Smells  bloody.     Fire  it  off." 

This  gave  Gyp  his  opportunity.  He  stepped 
a  few  paces  beyond  her,  bringing  the  crazy  crea- 


252  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

ture  between  him  and  the  yawning  abyss.  He 
then  turned  his  face  toward  the  canyon,  held  out 
his  hand  and  fired. 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !"  she  laughed,  as  the  reverbera- 
tion resounded  among  the  hills.  "See  him  writhe ! 
there  in  the  dust !  Writhe,  ha !  look  at  the  blood. 
You've  killed  him.  Ha !  ha !  ha !"  and  her  laugh 
was  that  of  a  fiend.  "See  here,  man,"  and  she 
took  from  the  pocket  in  her  skirt  a  leather  sheath, 
old  and  worn,  and  drew  from  it  a  savage  looking 
dagger,  replaced  the  sheath  in  her  pocket  and 
held  up  the  rusty  blade  before  him. 

"Lovely,  isn't  it.?  That's  for  Gyp,"  and  she 
turned  the  point  toward  him  and  looked  along 
its  edge  straight  into  his  face.  "Here,  see  this," 
and  she  pointed  to  some  dark  spots  on  the  blade. 
"It  looks  like  rust ;  but  the  dagger  lies.  It's 
blood.  D'ye  know  whose  blood  that  is.''  An- 
SAver  me." 

"I  certainly  do  not." 

"That's  the  blood  of  Selma  Stybright,  this 
spot,  right  here;  see  that  mark.?  That's  where  I 
stabbed  her  afore  I  burned  the  house  over  her. 
The  blood  came  up  that  far.  It  went  in  just 
so  deep.  See  that  black  line  there,  there  where 
I'm  a  pointin'?  That's  where  I  stabbed  Gyp's 
daddy  after  we'd  hung  him  to  the  oaks.  And 
right  here,"  and  she  touched  the  point  of  the 
accursed  steel,  "right  here  will  drip  the  blood  of 
that  little  brat.  Gyp,  when  I  get  'im!" 

The    young    man   was    horrified    at    the    awful 


SNAGS  GROUCHER  REDIVIVUS     253 

revelation  of  that  inhuman,  demon-haunted  crea- 
ture. He  believed  every  word  of  her  fearful 
story,  and  his  blood  boiled  in  his  veins.  His  face 
grew  ashen  as  she  continued  her  harsh  and  brutal 
narrative.  His  nerves  tingled  so  that  he  could 
scarcely  restrain  himself.  His  first  impulse  was 
to  fling  her  over  the  rock  and  give  her  flesh  to 
the  beasts  of  the  field  and  to  the  fowls  of  the  air. 
Here  was  a  chance  to  avenge  the  cruel  murder 
of  his  parents,  by  hurling  her  down  into  that 
roaring  abyss.  But  he  saw  that  the  vengeance 
of  God  was  already  upon  her.  She  was  no  longer 
responsible.  The  Judge  of  all  the  earth  was 
already  dealing  with  her.  Heaven  had  antici- 
pated him.  If  there  was  a  hell  in  this  world  she 
was  in  it,  a  torment  to  herself  and  a  terror  to 
her  fellow-beings,  without  God  and  without  hope 
in  the  world. 

"I  will  leave  her  in  His  hands,"  he  said,  and 
he  handed  back  the  blood-stained  blade,  rusted 
with  the  life's  blood  of  his  father  and  mother. 

"Oh,  I'll  git  'im  yet.  He's  over  yander  kickin' 
where  you  shot  him.  I  smell  the  blood  of  him 
here,"  and  she  lifted  the  dagger  to  her  nostrils. 
"It'll  drip  right  there.  Gyp's  blood  will.  Oh,  I'll 
git  'im  and  Habor'll  get  the  wench." 

"Habor !  Habor  1"  he  shouted,  amazed.  "Who 
is  Habor,  and  whom  is  he  trying  to  get?" 

"Ah-h-h-h-h !"  she  rasped,  and  pointed  toward 
the  sharp  peak  to  her  right,  and  raised  her  harsh, 
discordant  voice  almost  to  a  scream :  "The  Red 


254.  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

Swan's  Neck;  the  flying  horse;  Habor;  Alda ; 
he's  on  her  trail ;  he'll  find  her ;  ha !  ha !  ha !  Man, 
he'll  get  her !" 

The  horror  of  such  a  possibility  almost  un- 
manned the  young  mountaineer.  The  thought 
that  Habor  was  alive  and  on  the  trail  of  one  he 
loved  had  never  dawned  upon  him.  Now  the 
thought  of  it  filled  his  whole  being  with  a  feel- 
ing of  unutterable  horror  and  dismay.  His 
Aida ;  his  darling !  and  he  knew  not  where  to  find 
her  or  how  to  help  her.  What  could  he  do.? 
Where  could  he  go? 

"Where  is  Moncure?  and  where  are  Habor  and 
this  girl  you  speak  of.?"  he  seemed  to  demand, 
rather  than  ask. 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !"  Her  laugh  was  demoniacal, 
and  her  fiendish,  imp-like  countenance  glowed 
with  a  light  that  might  have  flashed  from  some 
inner  Gehenna.  That  was  all.  She  stared  into 
his  ashen  face,  but  made  no  further  answer. 

"Where  did  Habor  go  in  his  search?  Tell 
me !"  he  thundered. 

Her  red  eyes  still  burned  into  his  face.  Her 
fingers  clutched  nervously  as  if  she  was  about  to 
leap  upon  him  and  rend  him  to  pieces.  He  thrust 
his  hand  into  his  pocket  where  he  had  placed 
the  pistol  a  few  moments  ago  and  closed  his  hand 
tightly  upon  it.  The  maniac  stamped  her  feet 
and  jabbed  her  staff  into  the  ground,  gnashed 
her  teeth  together  and  hissed,  as  she  shot  out  her 
bony  index  finger : 


SNAGS  GROUCHER  REDIVIVUS     255 

"Where  do  the  spirits  of  weasels  go,  and  tom- 
cats when  the  bull  dogs  kill  'em?  What  becomes 
of  the  souls  of  bats  and  snails,  red  lizards  and 
black  roaches?" 

"Tell  me,"  he  interrupted,  "where  is  Habor 
and  where  is  Aida  Moncure?  Don't  ask  me  such 
infernal  things.  Where  are  those  people:  an- 
swer me!" 

"Call  up  the  ghosts  of  dead  toads  and  ask 
them;  ask  the  soul  of  the  blue  jay  which  the 
hawk  has  eaten.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Yer  wants  to 
know  where  Habor,  my  lover,  has  gone?  Let 
the  wild  goose  that  flies  down  from  the  north 
lakes  answer.  I've  sent  him  abroad  for  another 
lover !"  She  walked  away  a  few  paces ;  glanced 
back  over  her  shoulder  at  him  and  returned. 
"Look  at  my  hands !"  and  she  thrust  them  to- 
ward him.  They  were  filthy,  withered  and  her 
long  nails  curved  up  like  an  eagle's  claws. 

"Man,  what  do  you  see  there?  They're  red, 
red  here  on  the  palm  and  here  on  the  back,  red, 
red.  It's  blood,  man ;  it's  blood !  Here  rests 
the  blood  of  the  men  and  women  I've  killed.  I 
love  the  smell  of  the  blood.  I've  burned  them 
in  their  houses,  and  drowned  them  in  the  river ; 
and  hanged  them  to  the  trees ;  and  shot  them 
through  the  doors  and  winders  in  their  homes. 
Ha !  ha !  ha !" 

It  was  a  hard  thing  for  Gyp  to  say,  when  he 
knew  that  this  terrible  creature  had  helped  to 
murder  his  own  father  and  mother,  yet  suppress- 


256  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

ing  the  natural  enmity  which  arises  unbidden,  he 
said: 

"We  must  forgive  and  forget." 

"Forget !  Forgive !  Who  can  forgive  sins 
but  God  only,"  she  shrieked,  and  her  voice  re- 
verberated among  the  mountains.  She  glared  at 
him  a  moment,  turned  about  and  deliberately 
walked  away.  She  passed  up  the  trail,  a  black 
tottering  crescent  bending  over  the  top  of  her 
staff,  wailing  that  fierce,  imprecatory  strain: 

"Toads  and  bats  for  the  adder's  den; 
Rue  and  dew  for  the  poison  fen; 
Hell  for  the  souls  of  blood-y  men." 


CHAPTER  XXX 
GYP  SEEKS  AN  OLD  FRIEND 

Gyp  hurried  from  that  awful  place.  It  had 
given  him  a  glimpse  of  the  paradise  of  God,  yet 
a  paradise  through  which  there  passed  the  shriek- 
ing ruin  of  Snags  Groucher  like  a  wraith  flung 
up  from  the  world  of  lost  souls.  A  short  walk 
brought  him  to  the  top  of  the  hill  above  the  Falls 
of  Okaluna.  He  saw  not  yet  the  cataract ;  but 
he  saw  a  sweet  little  stream  that  babbled  and 
simpered  on  its  way  down  to  the  cliff.  He  leaped 
across  it  and  followed  the  stream  to  the  Falls, 
where,  white  with  rage,  it  flung  itself  from  the 
cliff''s  edge  down  upon  slippery  shelves,  hurried 
around  great  boulders  and  flinging  defiance  in 
the  face  of  branch  and  root  and  every  lithological 
obstruction,  sprang  sheer  from  the  precipice  and 
fell  in  beads  of  chrysolite  far  down  amid  un- 
friendly rocks. 

The  sweep  of  the  stream  and  the  plunge  of  the 
waterfall  brought  back  to  young  Stybright's 
mind  the  memories  of  years  ago.  It  was  at  this 
very  spot  that  he  lay  asleep  when  his  mother 
sought  him  so  bravely  through  that  distant, 
perilous  night.  Here  is  where  she  fell,  lantern 
in  hand,  and  set  fire  to  the  leaves  and  mountain 

257 


258  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

side,  and  started  that  memorable  conflagration. 
Beneath  the  escarpment  of  rock  on  which  he  stood 
he  and  his  mother  had  crept  for  protection  from 
the  awful  fire.  There  were  still  standing  many 
of  the  trees  scorched  and  blasted  by  the  fierce 
heat. 

What  changes  since  that  night ! 

Oh,  what  memories  had  this  day  brought  to 
him! 

But  he  must  not  wait.  He  must  find  his  loved 
and  long  lost  Aida,  and  rescue  her  from  any  pos- 
sible danger  from  the  relentless  Habor.  He  crept 
cautiously  down  the  mountain  cliff,  picking  his 
way  over  rocks  that  were  wet  with  spray  and 
slippery  with  dead  leaves  and  mosses,  throwing 
his  arms  about  the  trunks  of  young  trees  for 
support,  making  stairs  by  striking  his  heels  into 
the  soft  earth,  clinging  to  roots  that  jutted  from 
the  rocky  slope,  zigzagging  here  and  there  until 
at  last  he  reached  the  hard,  pebbly  road  along 
which  he  and  Old  Mose  had  passed  years  ago  on 
their  way  to  Lasuda.  He  crossed  the  roadway 
and  disappeared  in  the  dense  woods.  He  thought 
of  the  treasure-cave  near  the  old  camp  ground 
and  of  the  riches  that  there  awaited  him.  He 
thought  of  the  splendid  fortune  which  he  would 
bring  to  his  beloved  Aida,  rare  and  costly  stones, 
wonderful  jewels,  gold  and  silver,  traced  in  all 
the  cunning  of  ancient  craftsmen.  He  thought 
of  the  good  which  he  would  be  enabled  to  do  with 
his    riches    for    all    these   mountain   people.     But 


GYP  SEEKS  AN  OLD  FRIEND      259 

the  valley  was  already  chill  with  the  dews  and 
damps  of  gathering  night  as  he  emerged  from  the 
forest  and  entered  a  little  clearing.  Beyond  it, 
among  the  trees,  he  saw  a  glimmer  of  light.  It 
was  the  cabin  of  an  old  acquaintance.  He  ap- 
proached it  and  rapped  on  the  door.  He  was 
answered  by  the  growl  and  yelp  of  a  cur  within. 

"Shet  up !"  came  a  coarse  voice,  and  the  door 
was  pulled  open.  Gyp  knew  not  the  strange  face 
that  confronted  him. 

"Is  my  old  friend,  Ard  Stammel,  in?"  the  way- 
farer inquired. 

"Ard  Stammel.?  Yes,  'e  be  in — in  th'  tuther 
world.  Ard  'e  be  dead  an'  gone  a  right  smart 
spell.  Ef  ye  digs  deep  enufF  ye'll  fin'  his  bones 
out  yander  beyent  th'  steer  shed." 

"Oh,  I  am  very  sorry.  I  had  not  heard  of  his 
death."  Gyp  then  remembered  that  he  had  not 
seen  Ard  since  the  war.  Before  that  time  he 
used  to  play  with  his  children  about  the  door  and 
meet  them  on  the  mountain  paths. 

"Can  I  see  any  of  his  children?"  he  interro- 
gated. 

"I  reckon  ye  kin  ef  ye  go  whar  tha  be." 

"Then  his  family  does  not  live  here?" 

"Bless  ye,  no ;  I  been  a  livin'  hyar  years  an' 
years." 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Lon  Kluney ;  an'  what  be  you'n  ?" 

"Gyp  Stybright." 

"Never  heered  o'  ye.     Come  in," 


260  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

Gyp  entered  because  he  was  weary  and  hungry, 
rather  than  from  any  cordiahty  in  the  tone  of 
the  invitation,  or  of  welcome  in  the  strange,  star- 
ing faces  that  glared  into  his  as  he  entered. 

"Tak'  a  cheer,"  and  a  backless  tripod  was 
shoved  toward  him. 

A  sorry  medley  of  humanity  was  about  him. 
There  were  fully  a  dozen  men,  women  and  chil- 
dren, with  not  a  pair  of  shoes  among  them, 
poorly  clad,  with  poverty  written  on  every  coun- 
tenance. Two  families  were  housed  in  this  one 
small  room,  like  as  many  swine.  They  all  seemed 
to  be  using  tobacco  in  some  form,  except  the 
very  little  children.  Some  were  smoking,  some 
were  chewing,  and  some  with  their  snuff-sticks 
were  rubbing  their  filthy  gums.  Cleanliness  was 
a  lost  art,  and  decency  had  gone  to  keep  it  com- 
pany. 

"Hev  a  sip  o'  dew?"  hospitably  inquired 
Kluney,  as  he  took  from  the  mantel  a  large  bot- 
tle filled  with  almost  transparent  whiskey,  and 
handed  it  toward  his  guest. 

"Thank  you,  I  never  drink." 

"Not  drink  mounting  dew?  Humph!"  grunted 
Kluney,  replacing  the  bottle  on  the  shelf  with  a 
manifest  feeling  of  irritation  that  his  hospitality 
had  been  rejected  by  this  stranger.  "Then  yer 
don't  hafter,"  with  another  disapproving  grunt. 

"Mountain  dew  once  turned  into  a  frost  and 
killed  my  mother,"  Gyp  quietly  responded,  "and 
before  she  died  I  promised  her  that  I  would  never 


GYP  SEEKS  AN  OLD  FRIEND       261 

touch  it,  and  thus  far  I  have  kept  my  word.  I'm 
not  thirsty ;  but  I  am  hungr}^,  and  if  you  will  of- 
fer me  a  piece  of  pone  I  will  accept  it  with  thanks 
in  place  of  the  drink  you  so  kindl}'  tendered  me." 

"M'riar,  pone;  give  th'  stranger  pone,"  called 
Kluney  to  a  bronzed  woman  whose  stolid  face 
seemed  already  to  have  turned  into  an  interroga- 
tion point. 

Mariah,  a  brawny  woman,  with  great  blue  veins 
traversing  her  bared  arms,  opened  a  corner  cup- 
board, took  out  a  slab  of  com  bread  and  with  a 
broad,  sword-like  knife,  cut  off  a  slice  large  enough 
to  supply  the  wants  of  two  hungry  men. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Kluney,  the  one-fourth  of  that !" 

But  with  a  sniff  that  her  hospitality  should  be 
quartered,  that  generous  dame  handed  him  the 
entire  amount  without  saying  a  word. 

"And  so  Ard  Stammel  is  dead.''"  Gyp  ventured, 
interrogatively,  desiring  to  open  up  some  line  of 
conversation.  "Can  you  tell  me  the  cause  of  his 
death.?" 

"Ard  had  tribble  'ith  his  neck  an'  it  tuk  him 
off'n  his  feet,"  Kluney  responded  as  stolid  and 
impassive  as  a  gargoyle. 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  Gyp  meditatively.  "He 
was  hanged  for  being  a  Union  man." 

"Eggsackly." 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

"He  was  tuk  by  th'  Greys  an'  'e  had  a  Yankee 
flag;  an'  that  was  th'  evydence  ag'n  'im." 

"And  they  hanged  him.?" 


262  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Th'  Greys  said  as  how  tha  thought  'e  mought 
be  more  account  in  heaven  than  in  these  North 
C'liny  mountings,  an'  so  tha  sent  'im  through  by 
th'  rope  route." 

"What  became  of  his  family?" 

"Well,  'is  widdy  wer  kind  o'  upset  th'  turn 
things  tuk,  an'  she  sol'  off  'er  stawk  an'  taters, 
'er  craps  an  sich  'thout  gettin'  much,  an'  tuk  her 
chilluns  an'  got  away  f  m  hyah." 

"Where  are  they  living  now?" 

"Dunno.     Never  been  heern  o'  sense." 

"Have  any  friends?" 

"Unioners  help  her,  I  guess.  She  war  mighty 
sot  on  th'  ol'  flag,  an'  I  jedge  she  war  looked 
alter.     An'  I  hain't  noways  a  'gredgin'  'er." 

"It  all  seems  very  sad." 

"We  be  all  puny  critters." 

"You  don't  recall  the  names  of  any  of  the 
Unioners  ?" 

"Yes,  there  war  a  feller  be  th'  name  o'  INIany- 
cure,  er  Mocure,  er  somethin'  o'  that  sort." 

Gyp's  heart  bounded. 

"Was  he  a  colonel — Colonel  Moncure?" 

"A  kunnel,  er  captain,  er  somethin'  er  'nother — 
a  briggydear  gineral,  mebby." 

"Did  he  have  a  daughter?" 

"  'E  had  a  gurl  'ith  blue  eyes  an'  a  short  frock. 
D'ye  know  'em?" 

"I  have  heard  of  them,"  evasively. 

"Whar  did  ye  hear?" 

"Through  Perk  Thompson." 


GYP  SEEKS  AN  OLD  FRIEND       263 

"What  does  ol'  'Sky  Blue'  know  o'  thim  peo- 
ple?" 

"Mighty  little,  Mr.  Kluney,  mighty  little." 

"  'E  orter  been  shot,  ol'  'Sky  Blue'  ort." 

"What  did  he  do.?" 

"Helpt  hang  my  dad." 

"Your  father.'"'  in  astonishment. 

"Yep." 

"Why.?" 

"Oh,  dad,  'e  been  out  a  riddin'  th'  mountings 
o'  thim  pesky  Unioners." 

"And  he  was  arrested.?" 

"No,  stranger ;  'e  war  hanged." 

"That  is  very  sad." 

"We  be  all  puny  critters." 

"But  about  Ard  Stammel's  family:  Do  you 
think  Colonel  Moncure  aided  her.?" 

"Yes.  I  heern  he  sent  her  money  an'  she  clared 
out  North." 

"You  do  not  know  where  they  settled  in  the 
North.?"  Gyp  eagerly  asked,  it  must  be  confessed, 
with  more  of  a  desire  to  know  of  the  location  of 
Aida  than  of  the  widow  of  his  friend. 

"Manycure,  I  be  heern,  went  t'  Pittchburgh. 
Dunno  whar  th'  widdy  went." 

"Pittsburgh !" 

"Dunno  whar  it  be,  but  that's  whar  I  heern  th' 
feller  went." 

A  great  light  shone  in  the  young  man's  soul. 
It  seemed  to  light  up  a  whole  destiny.  He  had 
gotten    hold    of    something    definite — if    reliable. 


264  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

Suddenly  a  shadow  swept  across  his  face,  and  he 
inquired : 

"There  was  another  fellow,  by  the  name  of 
Habor,  not  a  Union  man,  who  had  once  captured 
this  young  lady  during  the  war.  Did  you  ever 
hear  anything  about  him?" 

"Gone  North,  too." 

Then  the  light  in  Gyp's  soul  went  out  suddenly, 
and  the  revelation  of  Snags  Groucher  came  back 
to  him. 

"When  did  he  go  North.?" 

"Some  years  atter  th'  Manycures." 

"Did  he  know  where  the  Moncures  were  living 
at  the  time  he  went  North.?" 

"  'E  didn't  know ;  but  he  said  as  how  he'd  find 
'em  ef  he  had  ter  scratch  hell  with  a  fine  tooth 
comb." 

"If  that  is  where  he's  looking  for  Aida  he'll 
find  himself  on  the  wrong  trail." 

"He  had  it  in  fer  th'  Manycures.  He  never 
fergot  th'  dab  that  gurl  giv'  him  when  he  war  a 
stealin'  her  on  th'  Swan's  Neck." 

Gyp's  eyes  flashed  fire  for  a  moment.  All  his 
composure  fled  at  the  awful  thought  of  Aida's 
danger.  It  was  not  Moncure  that  the  villain 
wanted.  It  was  the  girl  who  had  wounded  him 
on  that  mad  dash  around  the  curves  of  the  Red 
Swan's  Neck.  Gyp's  very  soul  took  fire.  He 
seemed  unable  to  reason.  His  thoughts  were  in 
mutiny  against  the  confusing  situation  in  which 
he   found  himself.     Hundreds   of  miles   from  her, 


GYP  SEEKS  AN  OLD  FRIEND      265 

even  if  her  locality  were  certainly  known.  What 
could  he  do?  He  grew  faint  at  heart.  His 
cheeks  blanched  as  if  he  had  received  a  stab  in 
the  heart. 

"Be  ye  sick,  stranger?" 

"No,"  was  the  faint  reply.     "I'm  myself,  now." 

"Here,  tak'  a  sip  o'  this?"  and  Kluney  reached 
for  the  black  bottle  again. 

"Thank  you.     It  is  nothing.     It  is  over  now." 

"That  Habor's  a  catamount,"  Kluney  said  with 
an  oath.  "I'd  like  to  skin  'im  an'  nail  his  hide  on 
th'  end  o'  th'  woodshed.  Cheated  me  in  a  mule 
trade,"  and  he  took  a  drink  from  his  own  bottle 
and  replaced  it  on  the  mantel. 

In  Gyp's  brain  there  was  a  tumult  of  fire  and 
ice.     Habor  on  the  trail  of  Aida ! 

"Great  God,  protect  her !" 

He  arose  and  went  out  into  the  night,  that 
under  the  benign  stars  he  might  form  his  resolu- 
tions. If  God  would  give  him  wings  to-morrow 
he  would  be  beyond  the  Ohio.  But  alas,  men  have 
only  feet ! 


CHAPTER     XXXI 
BETWEEN  THE  RIVERS 

It  was  long  before  Gyp  got  to  sleep  that 
night.  The  situation  seemed  so  confusing  and 
helpless.  He  tossed  on  his  rude  bed  in  his  own 
home,  his  brain  in  a  whirl,  vainly  trying  to  blaze 
a  path  through  the  dense  jungle  of  his  fears.  It 
was  toward  morning  when  he  fell  into  a  troubled 
sleep,  and  in  his  sleep  a  vision  came  to  him.  He 
saw  in  his  dreams  a  little  city  with  quaint  old 
buildings  and  narrow  streets.  A  river  flowed  on 
either  side  of  the  city  and  the  two  streams  merged 
and  flowed  unitedly  to  the  sea.  One  of  the  rivers 
slipped  between  the  city  and  the  sea,  forming  a 
beautiful  island,  in  the  midst  of  which  a  banded 
lighthouse  rose  dark  against  the  sky.  He  saw 
sails  upon  the  water  and  ships  upon  the  sea  and 
the  foam  tumbling  white  upon  the  sandy  beach. 
He  saw  fashionable  carriages  on  the  streets  and 
the  city  filled  with  people  in  holiday  attire. 

He  saw — or  thought  he  saw — the  waving  of  tall 
palmettoes  and  the  swaying  of  long  grey  mosses 
from  boughs  of  ancient  trees.  He  heard  the  rip- 
pling music  of  mocking-birds  and  saw  rich  and 
beautiful  flowers  abloom  everywhere. 

On   the  bank   of  the   eastern  river   a  fair  and 

266 


BETWEEN  THE  RIVERS  267 

radiant  maiden  stood  and  looked  toward  the  east 
where  the  great  ships  were  upon  the  water.  She 
was  robed  in  spotless  white.  Jewels  flashed  from 
her  throat  and  fingers.  Her  face  was  as  fair  as 
the  dream  of  an  angel  and  she  looked  thought- 
fully toward  the  infinite.  He  saw  her  lips  part, 
and  this  is  what  the  dream-voice  brought  to  his 
eager  soul : 

"As  these  rivers  unite  and  flow  into  the  sea, 
so  shall  the  lives  of  Gyp  Stybright  and — " 

"Aida  Moncure!"  exclaimed  the  excited 
dreamer,  and  awoke  to  find  the  vision  shattered, 
as  if  he  had  thrown  a  stone  through  a  mirror. 
But  the  dream  was  elysium. 
There  was  no  more  sleep  for  Gyp,  and  he  was 
infinitely  glad  when  the  morning  began  to  edge 
its  way  through  the  chinks  in  the  walls. 

"What  a  vision!  Wliat  does  it  mean.?"  he  in- 
quired, rubbing  his  eyes.  "This  may  be  a  path 
through  the  jungle.     Grant  it,  dear  heaven!" 

All  his  past  came  rushing  back  to  him  in  a 
tumultuous  cascade  of  memories.  He  thought  of 
the  happy  days  with  Aida  in  the  mountain  camp, 
and  wondered  if  the  dream  held  any  meaning  for 
him.  He  wondered  most  of  all  at  Aida's  pro- 
longed silence  of  the  years,  and  why  all  direct 
knowledge  of  her  since  the  day  of  their  parting 
had  been  withheld  from  him.  But  there  she 
stood  in  his  vision,  there  by  the  river's  side. 
Could  there  be  any  mistake  about  it?  She  was 
more    beautiful    than    ever.      She    was    a    girl    no 


O' 


268  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

longer,  but  a  charming  woman,  fairer  than  any 
he  had  ever  seen. 

What  had  she  said? 

"As  these  streams  flow  together,  so  shall  the 
lives  of  Gyp  Stybright  and — "  there  it  had 
stopped. 

"Why  did  I  in  my  consummate  idiocy  shut  out 
the  remainder  of  that  sentence  which  might  have 
meant  happiness  for  me?  Why  did  I  awake  and 
blot  out  that  name  which  meant  everything? 
Would  she  have  joined  her  own  name  with  mine, 
she  so  exquisite,  so  lovely,  and  I  only  a  poor 
mountaineer  without  lineage,  without  name,  with- 
out wealth?"  Then  he  caught  his  breath  at  the 
remembrance  of  the  treasure  hid  in  the  cave. 
"Ah,  but  she  knows  nothing  of  this.  Could  such 
extremes  be  harmoniously  joined?  Will  my  cher- 
ished happiness  end  as  the  vision  ended,  in  a 
blank?" 

His  mind  went  back  to  Sunset  Rock  and  to  the 
startling  vision  of  Snags  Groucher.  He  con- 
jured up  the  old  cabin  home  and  the  smoulder- 
ing embers.  He  saw  again  the  rusty  dagger  of 
the  peripatetic  maniac — rusted  with  the  blood  of 
his  father  and  mother.  Then  came  the  revelation 
of  Lon  Kluney  of  Aida's  sojourn  in  the  North 
and  of  the  departure  of  the  bloodthirsty  Habor 
in  search  of  her.  These,  with  the  vision  of  the 
night  and  the  awful  recollection  of  the  preceding 
day  stirred  his  brain  until  it  whirled  like  a  cy- 
clone.    He  was  almost  beside  himself.     "God  help 


BET\^^EN  THE  RIVERS  269 

me !"  he  cried  as  he  smote  his  brain  and  leaped  to 
his  feet.  The  upper  and  the  nether  worlds 
seemed  to  have  chosen  his  humble  cabin  as  a  bat- 
tle-field, and  the  fight  was  on.  What  would  he 
do?  There  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done,  find 
Aida  and  protect  her  from  the  man  who  had  gone 
on  her  trail.  He  would  search  every  clue.  Find 
her  he  must.  Find  her  he  would.  This  very  day 
he  would  speed  away  as  fast  as  steam  could  carry 
him.  No  more  sleep.  The  battle  in  the  brain 
had  murdered  sleep. 

Before  leaving  his  room  an  incident  occurred 
which  gave  a  new  turn  to  the  program  of  the  day 
— one  of  those  trifling  things  which  sometimes 
change  the  whole  current  of  one's  destiny.  As 
he  took  his  coat  from  the  wall  a  letter  fell  from 
the  pocket.  He  picked  it  up  and  saw  that  it  was 
the  one  which  Miss  Larue  had  placed  in  his  hands 
at  parting.     He  hastily  broke  the  seal  and  read : 

"Mr.  Stybright: 

"Find   a   city   by   the   sea  where  two   rivers 
meet  and  you  will  find  happiness. 

"Miss  Larue." 

"The  letter  and  the  vision  are  one !"  exclaimed 
he  excitedly.  "Where  is  the  city.''  Where  are 
the  rivers.?  East,  West,  North,  South;  on  lake 
shore  or  gulf  shore,  Pacific  Coast  or  Atlantic? 
A  city  and  two  rivers !  I  saw  them  in  my  vision 
of  the  night.     As  the  two  streams  unite,  so  shall 


270  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

she  and  I,  and  she — she  was  Aida!  I  know  it. 
That  face  is  photographed  on  my  soul  from  the 
days  of  the  mountain  camp,  and  though  it  change 
a  thousand  fold  and  become  each  day  more  radi- 
ant with  the  change,  I  cannot  be  deceived.  'Find 
the  city  and  you  will  find  happiness.'  Happiness 
with  her !  Sweet  heaven,  bless  thee  forever,  I 
shall  find  the  city ;  I  shall  find  the  rivers ;  I  shall 
find  the  peerless  creature  on  the  shore !  But 
how?  Aye,  there's  the  rub;  but  find  her  I  shall. 
The  horror  of  my  fear  shall  not  extinguish  the 
brightness  of  my  hope." 

He  folded  the  letter  and  replaced  it  in  his 
pocket,  partook  of  a  hurried  breakfast  and  was 
gone  over  the  mountains  by  the  way  he  had  come. 
"No  northern  mission  till  I  see  Miss  Larue,"  he 
said  to  himself,  and  as  he  hurried  away  to  Lasuda 
he  thus  reasoned: 

"How  does  Miss  Larue  know  all  this?  How 
did  she  come  by  such  information?  If  she  knows 
this  much  she  knows  more.  If  she  knows  there  is 
happiness  for  me  in  the  city  between  the  rivers, 
she  knows  where  those  rivers  are  and  where  the 
city  is.  If  she  knows  that  there  is  happiness  for 
me,  she  knows  through  whom  that  bliss  is  to 
come."  Thus  he  mused  and  filled  his  mind  with 
interrogations  and  deductions.  He  could  not  un- 
derstand why  she  had  not  told  him  before  he  left 
the  school.  Had  she  known  all  these  years  where 
his  dear  Aida  was  residing?  Had  she  kept  the 
knowledge  purposely   from  him?     "And   she  was 


BETWEEN  THE  RIVERS  271 

so  kind  to  me,"  he  continued  musingly.  "Pos- 
sibly it  may  have  been  just  this  cherished  knowl- 
edge that  made  her  so  kind."  As  these  thoughts 
perplexed  him  the  beautiful  Miss  Larue  became 
to  him  more  of  a  problem  than  ever.  "Cer- 
tainly," he  reasoned,  "if  this  knowledge  has  been 
in  her  possession  all  these  years  it  must  have  been 
withheld  for  some  good  and  sufficient  reason. 
But  what  could  it  be.P" 

He  found  Miss  Larue  sweet  but  uncommunica- 
tive. 

"It  is  a  confidence,"  she  said  to  him.  "You 
would  not  have  me  untrue  to  my  promise?" 

"Certainly  not.  What  you  have  done,  Miss 
Larue,  I  am  sure  must  be  right,  but  I  cannot  un- 
derstand it." 

"But  you  w  ill  bye  and  bye ;  and  you  will  re- 
alize that  what  we  have  done  for  your  especial 
comfort  and  happiness  was  the  wisest  thing  to 
do." 

"Whom  do  you  mean  by  'we'.?" 

Miss  Larue  gave  a  little  start,  feeling  that  the 
inquiry  had  laid  bare  her  secret. 

"Miss  Moncure  and  myself,"  she  replied  with 
a  smile,  admitting  everything. 

"Then  she  has  understood  all  along  .f*" 

"You  have  not  been  forgotten." 

"And  you  have  kept  in  communication  with 
her?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  she  married?" 


27S  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Bless  your  dear  heart,  no." 

"There  is  one  thing  more  I  would  like  to  ask: 
Does  she  think  of  me  as  in  other  days?" 

For  answer  Miss  Larue  picked  up  a  volume  of 
Shakespeare,  turned  a  few  pages  and  pointing  to 
a  familiar  sentiment,  handed  him  the  book.  This 
is  what  he  read: 

"Doubt  that  the  stars  are  fire; 
Doubt  that  the  world  doth  move; 
Doubt  truth  to  be  a  liar; 
But  never  doubt  my  love." 

Gyp  was  so  overjoyed  he  could  scarcely  re- 
strain his  emotion.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
grasped  Miss  Larue's  hand  with  the  fervor  of  a 
lover  and  could  scarcely  refrain  from  embracing 
her.  He  poured  his  gratitude  into  her  ears  and 
told  her  of  the  vision  of  the  preceding  night,  of 
the  city  and  the  rivers  and  the  charming  lady  on 
the  river's  shore  and  of  the  unfinished  exclama- 
tion ;  and  then  he  asked : 

"Is  it  far  from  the  junction  of  the  rivers  to 
the  sea?" 

"Considering  the  previous  length  of  the  rivers, 
yes." 

"Then  we  shall  have  many  years  of  bliss  to- 
gether ?" 

"Your  hope  runs  ahead  of  your  discovery,  my 
young  friend." 

"But  I  shall  find  her,  shall  I  not?" 

"I    am    no    interpreter    of    dreams,    neither    a 


BETWEEN  THE  RIVERS  273 

prophet  nor  the  daughter  of  a  prophet.  I  can 
only  say  that  your  vision  corresponds  to  the 
present  abiding  place  of  Miss  Moncure.  The 
rest  you  must  discover." 

"I  cannot  ask  you  to  break  your  pledge.  You 
have  been  very  kind ;  have  told  me  far  more  than 
I  dreamed  of  learning.  But  will  you  answer  me 
this :     To  whom  did  you  give  your  pledge  ?" 

"To  Miss  Aida." 

"Thank  you  very  much,  Miss  Larue.  But  why 
this  secrecy.?" 

"For  reasons  which  Miss  Aida  will  make  known 
when  you  meet." 

"And  that  city:  is  it  East,  West,  North  or 
South.?" 

"It  is  a  city  by  the  sea  where  the  rivers  meet. 
Your  future  happiness  is  largely  a  question  of 
geography." 

"And  if  I  fail.?" 

"Then  return  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
SOLVING  THE  RIDDLE 

"A  QUESTION  of  geography?  What  is  the  rid- 
dle? A  maze  with  my  darling  at  the  center  of 
it.  Let  me  find  the  starting  point  and  I  will  find 
the  center.  Give  me  the  end  of  a  thread  and  I 
will  unravel  a  destiny.  'Find  a  little  city  by  the 
sea  where  two  rivers  meet  and  you  will  find  hap- 
piness.' So  reads  the  riddle.  Now  if  there  were 
but  one  city  in  this  broad  land  where  two  rivers 
meet  the  problem  would  be  an  easy  one.  Let  me 
see:  What's  the  matter  with  New  York?  The 
North  River  and  the  East  River  flow  together  and 
pass  through  the  bay  to  the  sea.  And  there,  too 
is  Philadelphia,  with  its  Delaware  and  Schuylkill 
uniting  and  following  in  fellowship  to  the  ocean. 
But  this  must  be  a  city  'by'  the  sea.  There  is 
therefore  a  limitation.  But  is  there  but  one  sea 
on  which  a  city  with  two  rivers  is  located?  Only 
one  seaboard  city  where  the  rivers  join?  The 
proposition  lacks  definiteness.  It  is  wanting  in 
particulars.  Let  me  read  again,"  and  he  took 
Miss  Larue's  note  from  his  pocket : 

"  'Find  a  little  city  by  the  sea  where  two  rivers 
meet,  and  you  will  find  happiness.'  " 

"Oh,   I    see;  it    is   not   'the'    city,   but    a   city. 

S74 


SOLVING  THE  RIDDLE  275 

That's   another  proposition.      I  will  examine  my 
geography." 

He  turned  to  his  text-book  and  ran  his  finger 
along  the  entire  northern  and  eastern  coast- 
lines, and  cities  by  the  sea  he  could  find  in  plcnt}^, 
but  to  his  surprise,  not  one  could  he  find  where 
two  rivers  met  to  form  another  as  suggested  by 
the  riddle.  He  examined  the  southern  and  west- 
ern shores.  He  found  cities  on  lake  and  river, 
on  bay  and  river,  on  sound  and  river,  on  gulf  and 
river,  but  strange  to  say  his  atlas  indicated  not 
one  city  where  the  rivers  fulfilled  the  conditions. 
If  such  cities  existed  his  geography  did  not  show 
them. 

"The  maze  is  more  intricate  than  I  thought." 
Gyp  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  with  his  hands 
under  his  head. 

"Let  me  read  it  again."  Then,  after  a  few 
moments'  reflection:  "It  does  not  say  'on,'  but 
by.  But,  of  course,  no  city  would  be  on  the  sea. 
'By'  is  the  proper  word.  I  have  read  of  lake  vil- 
lages built  on  piles ;  but  there  are  no  such  places 
to  bother  me ;  and  even  if  there  were,  two  rivers 
could  not  meet  there.  Men  do  not  build  cities 
'on'  but  by  the  sea." 

He  scanned  the  coast-line  again,  but  with  no 
better  result. 

"The  path  to  the  castle  does  not  lie  in  that  di- 
rection.     I  must  seek  it  some  other  where." 

He  asked  his  neighbors.  But  what  did  they 
know   about   cities  by  the  sea  or  anywhere  else ! 


276  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

They  could  tell  the  roads  to  the  little  towns  where 
they  sold  pork  and  eggs  and  traded  mountain 
dew  for  salt  and  pepper.  They  could  tell  how 
the  squirrels  lived  and  where  they  made  their  run- 
aways. They  could  tell  where  the  brooding  vul- 
ture sat,  and  the  burrow  where  the  wild  fox  made 
his  lair.  Every  peak  and  promontory,  and  every 
bridle-path  over  the  great  mountains,  were  famil- 
iar to  them.  But  cities  by  the  far-off  seas  were 
things  they  never  worried  over  or  even  thought 
of.  Gyp  could  get  no  information  there,  and  he 
soon  gave  up  trying.  The  lips  of  the  teachers  in 
the  seminary  were  closed  to  him,  and  consultation 
there  was  out  of  the  question.  They  had  evi- 
dently conspired  to  have  him  pursue  his  investi- 
gation alone.  "And  they  are  right,"  he  solilo- 
quized, "for  if  Aida  is  worth  having  she  is  worth 
discovering."  Miss  Larue  had  given  him  a  clue : 
this  he  must  work  out  alone.  In  addition  to  this 
his  dream  had  come  as  a  flashlight. 

"The  dream !  the  dream !"  he  exclaimed,  as  if  a 
sudden  revelation  had  come  to  him.  In  his  geo- 
graphical explorations  he  had  forgotten  it.  "Put 
the  dream  and  the  riddle  side  by  side,  and  the 
two  may  lead  me  through  the  labyrinth.  Strange 
that  I  had  overlooked  it.  Did  not  the  tantaliz- 
ing Miss  Larue  say,  'The  vision  corresponds  to 
the  riddle?'  Now  what  was  the  vision  I  saw?" 
he  continued  musing,  "a  little  city  lying  between 
two  rivers,  and  between  one  of  the  rivers  and  the 
sea  there  was  an  island.     Now  let  me  see:     New 


SOLVING  THE  RIDDLE  277 

York  lies  between  two  rivers,  and  between  it  and 
the  sea  is  Long  Island.  Here  is  the  solution! 
Wait.  Ah,  this  was  a  'little'  city,  while  New 
York  is  a  great  metropolis.  In  the  dream  the 
two  rivers  united  and  flowed  as  one  river  to  the 
sea.  But  here  the  bay  carries  the  waters  of  both 
rivers  to  the  ocean.  I  must  give  this  city  up. 
Aida  is  not  in  New  York. 

"I  saw,  also,  quaint,  old  fashioned  buildings  in 
my  dream.  These  things  do  not  correspond  to 
the  old  Manhattan  city.  And  then,  too,  I  saw 
fashionable  turnouts  thronging  the  narrow  streets, 
and  bazars  of  curios  everywhere.  I  saw  luxuri- 
ous hotels  with  wide  piazzas  thronged  with  patri- 
cian guests.  These  things  suggest  a  fashionable 
resort  rather  than  a  great  commercial  center.  I 
also  saw  in  my  dream  clusters  of  tall  palmettoes 
waving  their  luxurious  fronds  in  parks  and  along 
street  sides.  I  saw  the  narrow,  ragged  leaves  of 
the  banana,  and  grey  mosses  hanging  from  live 
oaks.  I  heard  through  it  all  the  rollicking  song 
of  the  mocking-bird. 

"And  so  I  must  abandon  all  cities  on  the  north- 
ern seaboard.  The  solution  of  the  riddle  lies 
not  that  way. 

"But  the  circle  is  narrowing.  It  is  possibly 
some  resort  away  off  on  the  Pacific." 

He  thought  over  the  vision  again. 

"No,  it  could  not  have  been  on  the  Pacific 
coast,"  he  contended,  "for  the  woman  in  white 
stood  on  the  beach  and  looked  toward  the  sea  and 


278  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

the  east.  The  river  was  between  her  and  the  is- 
land, and  the  island  was  between  the  river  and 
the  sea.  She  was  therefore  somewhere  on  the 
east  coast  and  in  one  of  the  southern  states. 
That  is  suggested  bj  the  palmettoes.  So  much 
is  certain. 

"And  still  the  circle  is  narrowing." 

Again  he  turned  to  his  geography,  but  again 
he  was  hopelessly  lost. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "let  me  summarize  what  I  have 
thus  far  learned.  In  the  first  place  Miss  Aida  is 
in  a  city.  She  is  in  a  little  city.  It  is  a  fash- 
ionable city.  It  is  some  southern  resort.  It  is 
on  the  Atlantic  seaboard.  It  is  an  old  city,  with 
quaint  buildings  and  narrow  streets,  yet  with 
many  great  hotels.     Where  is  there  such  a  city.''" 

His  geography  and  atlas  gave  him  no  satisfac- 
tion. 

"It  is  more  than  a  question  of  geography,  at 
least  such  a  geography  as  Miss  Larue  has  placed 
in  my  hands.     I  will  examine  my  history." 

He  reached  up  to  a  little  swinging  shelf  by  the 
window,  took  down  a  history  of  the  United  States 
and  turned  to  the  early  Spanish  explorations  in 
Florida.  There  an  old  print  of  that  portion  of 
the  state  familiar  to  the  explorers  met  his  eyes. 

"I  have  it !  I  have  it !"  he  shouted  as  he  flung 
the  book  on  the  floor  and  jumped  to  his  feet,  fling- 
ing his  hat  against  the  wall.  "E-u-r-e-ka!  The 
little  city,  the  city  with  the  waving  palms  and 
quaint  old  buildings,  the  city  between  the  rivers! 


SOLVING  THE  RIDDLE  279 

The  Matanzas !  the  San  Sebastian !  and  the  is- 
land of  Anastasia !  Hooray !  I  have  threaded 
the  maze.  I  have  reached  the  citadeL  Ye  gods, 
I've  won.  What's  the  matter  with  Old  St.  Au- 
gustine !" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

DE  CHRYSALIS  DONE   BROKE 

"Blessed  be  steam.  Heaven  crown  with  fade- 
less laurels  the  man  who  first  harnessed  the  in- 
visible spirit  of  steam  to  the  flying  wheels." 

Thus  thought  the  excited  lover  as  he  hurried 
away  toward  the  Mecca  of  his  hopes  in  the  land 
of  Ponce  de  Leon.  How  the  villages  sped  away 
and  the  little  cabins  danced  and  pirouetted,  and 
larger  dwellings  courtesied  to  the  chambered 
thunderbolt  as  it  bored  its  way  through  fields 
and  forests  like  an  arrow  from  the  bow  of  Omnip- 
otence. What  pictured  beauty  was  enrolled  as 
the  green  canvas,  dashed  with  stream  and  foliage 
and  blue  background  of  sky,  was  whisked  out  of 
view !  Downward — downward — downward  swept 
the  windowed  wonder  with  the  golden  eagles  on  its 
glowing  panels.  But  swifter  than  steam  are  a 
lover's  hopes.  Even  the  thunderbolt  creeps  with 
laggard  step  when  the  desire  of  one's  heart  is  at 
the  world's  end.  The  wires  overhead  sang  their 
fEolian  strains  to  the  wooing  winds,  but  they 
brought  no  message  to  the  separated  lovers. 

The  St,  John's  river  was  crossed  and  down 
through  the  timbered  tracts  the  whirring  wheels 
ran  toward  the  sea.     Through  fields  of  palmet- 

280 


DE  CHRYSALIS  DONE  BROKE   281 

toes,  through  groves  of  lime  and  lemon  and 
orange ;  past  emerald  oaks,  sinewy  and  sympa- 
thetic, whose  hoary  mosses  waved  in  the  winds 
like  old  men's  beards.  Flowers  starred  the  fields 
and  the  air  was  spice-laden.  A  long  screech  of 
the  locomotive  swept  through  the  streaming  pen- 
nants of  the  live  oaks ;  a  liveried  porter  thrust 
his  head  through  the  doorway,  gobbled  some  in- 
distinguishable name  into  the  faces  of  the  pas- 
sengers and  darted  back  as  if  a  pestilence  had 
smitten  him.  The  wheels  slowed  down,  ground 
hard  upon  the  brakes,  and  the  train  stood  still. 

Gyp  stepped  upon  the  platform  at  St.  Augus- 
tine. 

Half  a  hundred  carriages  with  their  noisy 
drivers,  an  equally  vociferous  delegation  of  run- 
ners from  various  hotels  and  lodging  houses,  the 
noise  of  escaping  steam,  the  rattle  of  trunks  and 
trucks  on  the  platform  caused  him  to  think  that 
he  had  landed  at  the  tower  of  Babel.  He 
threaded  his  way  through  the  tumult,  leaped  into 
a  trap  and  soon  was  driven  out  of  the  hurly- 
burly. 

"Do  you  know  Richard  Moncure.?"  Gyp  in- 
quired of  the  driver. 

"Ize  a  heahed  ob  dat  name,  sah;  I  has,  suah." 

"Then  you  do  not  know  him.?" 

"I  cayn't  jes'  say  as  how  I  knows  on  him;  but 
Ize  a  heahed  tell  ob  dat  name ;  I  hez,  done  suah ; 
an'  ef  'e  be  a  livin'  heah  I'll  fin'  'im  fo'  yo'." 

"Can  you  get  me  a  directory.?" 


282  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"Dunno,  boss.  I  hayn't  got  none  in  me  pants ; 
but  Ize  got  some  fine  cut,  ef  it's  t'baccy  you's 
atter." 

"I  want  a  directory,  a  book  that  tells  where 
people  live." 

"Boss,  yer  don't  need  no  book,  Ize  gwine  drive 
yo'  right  dar." 

"Drive  me  to  the  post-office.  I'll  make  inquiry 
there." 

"All  a-right,  boss ;  but  tha's  a  fixin'  up  the 
street.  It's  all  tored  up,  an  I'll  jes'  tak'  yo' 
roun'  dishaway." 

They  turned  into  a  narrow  street  and  drove 
down  toward  the  barracks  at  the  lower  end  of 
town. 

As  they  came  out  on  a  little  park  near  the 
Matanzas  Gyp  was  surprised  to  find  the  streets 
filled  with  fashionable  carriages  and  gay  turnouts 
of  one  kind  and  another.  Men  and  women  were 
in  holiday  attire.  Hundreds  of  well-dressed  peo- 
ple stood  about  the  enclosure,  lounged  on  the 
park  benches,  sat  along  the  sea-wall  or  occupied 
their  fashionable  equipages.  It  was  a  gay  and 
animated  scene  upon  which  the  young  moun- 
taineer looked.  The  band  sent  its  martial  strains 
crashing  upon  the  air.  At  the  farther  end  of  the 
parade  ground  a  many-jointed  flagstaff  flung  the 
stars  and  stripes  in  one  magnificent  mass  of  color 
upon  the  winds.  Beyond  the  sea-wall  lay  the 
placid  river.  Its  plain  of  crystal  was  unbroken, 
save  where  an  occasional  sail  whitened  the  water 


DE   CHRYSALIS  DONE  BROKE      283 

or  a  ship's  keel  left  its  vanishing  scar.  Beyond 
the  river  was  the  Island  of  Anastasia.  The  dark 
green  of  its  foliage  lying  irregularly  against  the 
horizon  was  relieved  by  an  occasional  dwelling 
and  the  white  dunes  flung  up  by  the  distant 
ocean.  Out  of  the  midst  of  the  irregular  mass 
of  green  the  tall  Anastasia  light  lifted  its  pictur- 
esque and  cylindrical  shaft  in  bands  of  white  and 
black  spirals. 

It  was  a  restful  picture,  new  and  entrancing 
to  the  young  man  from  the  North  Carolina  moun- 
tains. But  the  one  thing  that  filled  his  mind 
above  all  others  was  his  dream  and  the  message 
of  Miss  Larue.  He  could  not  dismiss  it  from  his 
mind.  There  was  the  jNIatanzas  ;  yonder  lay  An- 
astasia, and  out  beyond  it  throbbed  the  blue 
ocean.  Somewhere  on  this  shore  his  dream  had 
pictured  the  darling  of  his  heart  with  her  rapt 
gaze  fixed  upon  the  distant  sea,  or  was  it  the  is- 
land.'' He  looked  nervously  about  him.  Would 
he  find  her,  now  that  he  had  come  all  this  long 
distance?  The  sudden  stopping  of  the  trap, 
in  the  midst  of  the  great  throng,  brought  his  rev- 
erie to  an  end. 

"Woa,  dah ;  yo'  dum  beas',"  came  in  staccato 
notes  from  the  driver.  "Watch  whar  yo'  g^ine 
wid  dem  slammin'  hoofs  o'  yo'n." 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this  gathering, 
driver.?"  Gyp  inquired. 

"De  mil'tary  ban'  gibs  er  open-aiah  concuht  fo' 
de  bennyfit  o'  de  town  an'  sich  as  hab  eahs  an' 


284  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

want  t'  heah.     Ef  yo'  lak  t'  heah  de  music  I'll  jes' 
keep  mah  hoss  chuck  up." 

Gyp  was  intensely  fascinated  with  the  scene 
about  him.  The  band  finished  its  program  and 
marched  away.  But  still  the  crowd  lingered. 
Suddenly  the  notes  of  a  bugle  blown  from  the 
barracks  caused  him  to  turn.  He  saw  the  troops 
in  their  white  uniforms  march  in  rhythmic  hexa- 
meters upon  the  green,  while  the  band  sent  its  pa- 
triotic strains  far  away  beyond  the  crest  of 
Anastasia.  It  was  the  first  real  warlike  array  he 
had  ever  seen,  and  he  watched  it  with  intense  in- 
terest. A  sentry  paced  to  and  fro  to  prevent  in- 
trusion upon  the  grounds  by  the  too  eager  yet 
admiring  spectators.  Color-bearers  marched 
across  the  plaza,  and,  with  their  ensigns,  took 
their  places  at  the  head  of  the  column.  Around 
the  parade  ground  there  was  a  living  fence,  a 
solid  wall  of  nationalities — the  Syrian  from  his 
bazar,  the  Jew  from  his  gems  and  sandalwood, 
the  German  from  his  beer  shop  and  his  cups,  the 
Cuban  from  his  booth  of  Havanas,  the  African 
from  his  siesta  in  the  sun  and  the  Minorcan  from 
his  truck  fields.  There,  too,  were  greasy  loafers 
whittling  their  misconsidercd  lives  away,  the  mag- 
nate and  the  newsboy,  the  minister  with  his  creed 
and  the  politician  with  his  muckrake.  What  a 
polyglot  it  was !  The  thunder  of  the  sunset  gun 
sent  its  reverberations  over  city,  island  and  river, 
and  the  mass  of  patriotic  color  which  all  day  long 
waved  from  the  towering  flagstaff,  dropped  from 


DE  CHRYSALIS  DONE  BROKE      285 

its  place  of  honor  and  was  folded  up  for  the  night. 
The  blue  files  of  soldiers  moved  like  a  poem  over 
the  greensward,  and  in  faultless  rhythm,  went 
through  their  varied  evolutions.  It  all  seemed  so 
new,  so  wonderful,  so  unique  and  beautiful  that 
Gyp  was  content  to  gaze  upon  it  in  admiring 
silence.  He  forgot  for  the  moment  the  dream  of 
his  highland  home  and  the  blissful  purpose  that 
had  brought  him,  a  stranger,  to  this  quaint  old 
Spanish  city. 

At  length  the  troops  marched  back  to  their 
quarters  and  the  crowds  of  spectators  began  to 
disperse.  The  sea-wall  was  soon  deserted,  park 
benches  were  emptied  and  the  carriages  rolled 
away.  Gyp  ordered  liis  driver  on ;  but  in  turn- 
ing into  the  crowded  street  the  wheel  of  his  trap 
became  interlocked  with  the  wheel  of  a  carriage 
turning  in  the  opposite  direction.  The  crash 
frightened  the  spirited  team  in  the  carriage  and 
they  sprang  forward  almost  overturning  both 
vehicles.  The  driver  checked  his  horses  in  a  mo- 
ment, but  the  leader,  a  magnificent  creature,  sleek 
as  velvet,  with  eyes  flashing  fire,  reared,  pawed 
the  air  with  his  angry  hoofs,  and  in  his  descent, 
veered  toward  his  excited  and  nervous  companion 
and  landed  across  the  pole  of  the  carriage.  He 
struggled  and  plunged  and  finally  threw  himself, 
bringing  the  other  horse  to  the  ground  with  him. 
All  was  uproar  and  confusion.  Women  shrieked 
and  ran  to  places  of  safety.  Men  ran  to  help  or 
to  get  out  of  the  way,  while  some  seized  upon  the 


286  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

struggling  horses  as  they  lay  entangled  in  their 
harness. 

The  only  occupant  of  the  carriage,  now  that  the 
driver  had  leaped  to  the  help  of  his  horses,  was  a 
young  lady  who  sat  calm  in  the  midst  of  the  ex- 
citement until  the  beautiful  leader  sprang  into  the 
air  when  she  became  nervous.  But  when  the 
furious  steed  fell  she  turned  her  face  toward  the 
trap  in  which  Gyp  was  seated  and  called: 

"Will  someone  please  assist  me?" 

Gyp  sprang  to  her  rescue,  and  throwing  open 
the  carriage  door,  helped  her  to  a  place  of  safety. 

"I  thank  you  very  much,"  she  said,  looking 
gratefully  into  his  strong  and  manly  face.  "You 
have  saved  my — " 

She  stopped  suddenly.  Her  expression  of 
gratitude  changed  to  one  of  inquiry,  then  to  as- 
tonishment. Their  eyes  met.  Surely  she  had 
seen  that  face  before.  And  Gyp?  Never  had 
he  heard  so  sweet  a  voice  but  once,  nor  beheld 
such  a  beautiful  face  except  in  his  vision.  Yes, 
it  was  she !  Yes,  it  was  he !  The  North  Caro- 
lina mountains ;  the  school  in  the  grove ;  the  fear- 
ful ride  down  the  Red  Swan's  Neck ! 

"Aida  Moncure  !  You  darling  creature  !"  Gyp 
exclaimed,  as  he  saw  in  that  radiant  being  the 
vision  of  his  highland  dream. 

"Why,  Gyp — you  precious  boy — is  this?  It 
is !  It  is !"  came  from  the  bewildered  Aida.  The 
suddenness  of  their  meeting  seemed  to  paralyze 
their  tongues  for  a  moment  and  they  stood  smil- 


DE  CHRYSALIS  DONE  BROKE      287 

ing  confusedly  into  each  other's  faces,  as  "eyes 
looked  love  to  eyes  that  spake  again." 

"My  darling,"  Gyp  stammered,  "this  is  a  most 
delicious  surprise." 

"It  does  not  seem  possible !  How  good  and 
strong  and  happy  you  look,"  she  replied  with  the 
lovelight  illuminating  her  face. 

"Bless  you,  Sweet,  who  wouldn't  look  happy 
with  a  heart  such  as  mine  and  a  vision  like  this 
before  me.?" 

The  crowd  surged  about  the  struggling  horses 
and  some  cried  one  thing  and  some  another : 

"Keep  away  from  his  heels !" 

"Sit  down  on  his  head !" 

"Cut  the  harness  and  let  him  up !" 

"Get  away  there  and  give  room !" 

Amid  the  uproar  no  one  seemed  to  notice  the 
reunited  lovers,  except  Gyp's  old  obsequious 
driver  who  pocketed  his  fare  and  with  a  broad 
grin  watched  the  happy  couple  walk  away. 

"Ize  a-heahed  tell  ob  gettin'  honey  out'n  de 
cawkus  ob  a  lion,  but  dis  am  de  fust  time  Ize 
ebbeh  heah'd  ob  two  sweethawts  a  Icapin'  out'n 
a  smashup  into  each  oddeh's  awms !  De  crys'lis 
done  broke  dat  time,  suah ;  an  de  buttehfly  done 
mak'  off  wid  annoddeh  fly  !     Yah,  yah,  yah !" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

ROSES  AND  PALMS 

Only  the  votaries  of  love  will  understand  the 
sacred  sanctuary  where  the  hearts  of  Gyp  and 
Aida  offered  their  incense.  Their  happiness  made 
them  oblivious  to  all  surroundings.  Gyp  saw  not 
the  quaintness  of  old  St.  George  street  nor  heeded 
the  rough  cobble  stones  under  his  feet.  He  saw 
not  the  overhanging  balconies  beneath  which  the 
draymen  drove  their  springless  two-wheeled  carts 
and  in  which  gaily  attired  maids  and  matrons 
sat  and  chatted  of  their  dull,  sublunary  affairs. 
He  did  not  notice  the  absence  of  sidewalks  or  that 
the  doors  of  the  dwellings  broke  the  plain,  con- 
crete walls  on  a  level  with  the  street.  He  saw 
not  the  rich  foliage  that  rose  above  garden  walls, 
or  the  hidden  lawns  where  the  spray  of  concealed 
fountains  wasted  itself  among  the  blossoming 
trees.  Palms  extended  their  graceful  fronds 
above  the  lovers'  heads  as  if  in  benediction,  but 
they  saw  them  not.  Gyp  saw  nothing  of  the 
quaint  old  city  and  Aida's  vision  was  no  better. 
How  the  world  shrivels  in  presence  of  our  infat- 
uations ! 

Aida  laid  her  jeweled  hand  on  a  small  wicker 
gate.     It    opened   to   her   touch,    and  the  lovers 

288 


ROSES  AND  PALMS  289 

passed  from  the  street  into  a  spacious  lawn 
adorned  with  shrubs  and  trees  and  all  manner  of 
flowers.  The  walk  on  either  side  was  flanked  with 
a  brilliant  mosaic  of  color.  The  lawn  was  abloom 
with  roses.  Foliage  plants,  like  oriental  rugs, 
lay  here  and  there  upon  the  greensward.  Jes- 
samine climbed  the  trellises.  Tall  cabbage  palms 
stood  like  sylvan  priests  in  this  charming  court 
of  nature.  The  date-palm,  a  patriarch  among 
its  fellows,  looked  benignly  upon  the  sweethearts. 
Gyp's  observing  eyes  rested  upon  magnolias  and 
fig  trees,  upon  Japanese  plums,  spice  myrtle  and 
rubber  plant.  He  saw  the  bamboo  and  bananas, 
while  flowers  of  countless  variety  were  every- 
where. It  was  a  charming  sight  for  the  young 
highlander.  And  there,  too,  was  Aida,  the  sweet- 
est flower  of  them  all !  It  seemed  as  if  he  had 
entered  paradise  at  last. 

Heaven  grant  that  the  devil  may  not  find  his 
way  into  it! 

Aida  paused  long  enough  to  indicate  to  Gyp 
the  especial  beauty  of  the  place  and  to  point  out 
its  most  interesting  features.  They  then  passed 
up  the  broad  steps  of  an  umber-colored  villa  and 
took  seats  on  the  piazza  with  this  charming  pic- 
ture in  the  foreground.  To  Gyp  it  was  idyllic, 
a  vision  of  fairyland. 

"Like  Israel  of  old  we  are  still  living  in  booths," 
said  Aida,  turning  her  radiant  face  upon  her 
companion.     "This  is  but  our  temporary  home." 

"I  am  sure,"  replied  Gyp,  graciously,  "that  no 


290  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

wilderness  could  be  so  fit  an  abiding  place  for  my 
charming  Israelite  as  this  bower  of  beauty.  Mir- 
iam's timbrel  would  never  be  silent  here." 

"But  where  is  the  ransomed  host  to  call  forth 
the  exultant  strains?"  answered  the  sweet  young 
pessimist,  with  a  smile. 

"Look  at  me,"  her  companion  responded, 
"haven't  I  just  got  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt  and 
the  house  of  bondage?  Not  much  of  a  Moses, 
I'll  admit,  nor  much  of  a  host,  but  I'm  out  of  the 
bondage  in  which  your  loveliness  first  found  me. 
I  have  come  through  my  Red  Sea,  and  it  has 
opened  almost  miraculously  before  me,  and  here 
I  have  found,  not  only  this  magnificent  wilderness 
of  floral  glory,  but  Miriam  as  well." 

"And  I  see  that  you  have  'learned  langwidge' 
since  we  first  met  in  your  highland  Goshen,"  she 
answered  with  a  sweet,  rollicking  laugh. 

"Yes,  thanks  to  my  good  friends  known  and 
unknown." 

"And  thanks  to  yourself.  I  can  scarcely  be- 
lieve as  I  look  into  your  face,  so  changed,  so 
manlier  grown,  that  you  are  the  same  little  bare- 
foot Gyp  who  undertook  to  teach  me  'bug  knowl- 
edge' in  those  crazy  days  on  the  mountains." 

"And  it  is  just  as  hard  for  me  to  realize  that 
you  are  the  same  gentle  Charon  who  rowed  me 
over  the  black  and  lonely  Styx  that  awful  night 
when  I  found  my  father  and  his  neighbors  mur- 
dered. And  yet  if  I  lost  much  in  those  never-to- 
be-forgotten  days  I  also  gained  much ;  for  out  of 


ROSES  AND  PALMS  291 

them  has  come  my  education,  humble  as  it  is,  and 
the  antecedent  happy  associations  formed  by  those 
times  of  privation  and  peril." 

"And  I  am  sure  our  happiness  is  mutual,  as 
our  trials  and  misfortunes  then  were.  Do  you 
remember  the  bluebells  and  the  yellow  lady-slip- 
pers and  the  white  blossoms  of  the  tulip  trees?" 

"Miss  Aida,  I  shall  never  forget,  not  while 
mocking  birds  sing  and  the  azaleas  bloom  in  my 
native  mountains." 

"Oh,  they  were  such  dear  times  in  spite  of  all 
the  hazard  of  brutal  war." 

"Do  you  think  of  them  that  way.?  I  am  so 
glad,  for  a  hundred  times  I  have  lived  again  those 
immortal  days,  and  there  was  no  joy  there  except 
as  associated  with  yourself.  And  as  I  have 
thought  them  all  over  again  and  again  life  has 
seemed  more  beautiful  with  each  returning  mem- 
ory. But  I  would  not  think  you  would  care  to 
recall  them." 

"And  the  reason  is.''" 

"Well,  with  me  that  was  home,  and  I  had  been 
familiar  with  all  the  hardships  incident  to  that 
wild  life.  But  you  were  reared  otherwise,  and 
those  wild  scenes  and  wilder  men  were  so  foreiffn 
to  all  your  previous  years.  The  wonder  is  that 
you  endured  it  and  lived  through  it." 

"I  just  delighted  in  it,  and  the  memory  of  those 
days  is  one  of  my  greatest  luxuries.  It  is  the  one 
romance  of  my  life." 

"Mixed  up  with  those  rough  mountaineers .''" 


S92  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"No  little  maiden  ever  had  such  a  body-guard 
of  noble  patriots  and  unselfish  friends.  I  felt  as 
safe  and  happy  as  if  engirdled  by  walls  of  bris- 
tling steel." 

"But  I  remember  once  on  a  time  a  young  and 
happy  maiden  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy." 

"And  I  recall  a  brave  young  mountaineer  who 
came  to  the  rescue.  By  the  way,  Gyp,  what  has 
become  of  my  old  captor,  Jim  Habor?" 

"Do  you  know  nothing.?"  Gyp  interrogated, 
recalling  the  information  he  had  gained  a  short 
time  before  leaving  his  native  state. 

"No.  I  have  never  heard  of  him  since  that 
day." 

"The  report  in  the  mountains  was  that  he  had 
followed  you  North." 

"But  we  did  not  go  North." 

"Not  go  North?"  Gyp  inquired  in  amaze- 
ment. "It  was  reported  among  your  old  friends 
and  neighbors  that  when  the  camp  broke  up  you 
and  your  dear  father  returned  to  the  home  of  his 
childhood." 

"That  was  our  original  intention ;  but  after  we 
had  started  we  changed  our  minds  and  returned 
to  our  old  home  in  North  Carolina.  But  we  re- 
mained there  only  a  few  hours,  everything  was  so 
sad  and  desolate.  From  there  we  went  to  New 
Orleans,  then  around  by  water  to  this  dear  old 
town ;  and  from  here  we  made  our  way  to  Spain 
and  spent  years  abroad." 

"Praise  God  we  were  all  deceived  and  Habor 


ROSES  AND  PALMS  293 

missed  his  mission.  But  we  will  drop  that  sub- 
ject." 

At  that  moment  the  angelus  sounded  from  the 
old  cathedral  and  seemed  to  hang  in  the  air  like 
an  unforgotten  hope. 

For  a  blissful  hour  they  sat  in  the  shelter  of 
the  dying  day.  It  was  a  time  when  the  immortal 
past  came  back  again  and  between  the  joy  of  the 
days  that  were  gone  and  the  bliss  of  the  passing 
moment  their  hearts  were  filled  to  overflowing. 

As  Gyp  walked  down  St.  George  street  that 
night  he  was  unspeakably  happy.  The  thing  that 
he  hoped  for  had  come  to  him. 

As  he  turned  out  of  the  street  he  felt  a  sudden 
revulsion  of  feeling.  He  felt  that  everything  was 
not  right.  He  was  almost  sure  that  someone  was 
following  him.  But  it  was  easy  to  be  mistaken. 
The  streets  were  full  of  people.  Need  he  think 
strange  that  there  were  those  following  him  when 
scores  of  men  and  women  were  yet  abroad.''  It 
was  but  an  hallucination.  He  would  dismiss  it 
from  his  mind.  He  passed  into  his  hotel,  yet  in 
spite  of  everything  a  specter  seemed  to  haunt  him. 
He  exchanged  a  few  whispered  words  with  the 
clerk  and  went  directly  to  his  room. 

It  was  an  hour  or  more  after  he  had  gone  to 
his  apartment  that  a  dissipated  creature  entered 
the  office  and  with  sinister  countenance  looked 
around  the  lobby.  He  went  to  the  clerk's  desk, 
glanced  over  the  register,  turned  about  and  passed 
out  into  the  street. 


294*  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

Aida  meanwhile  had  gone  within  the  villa.  The 
floors  were  soft  with  luxurious  rugs.  Rich  por- 
tiers  hung  in  the  doorway.  Paintings  by  master 
hands  adorned  the  walls.  The  entire  furnishing 
was  in  harmony  with  refined  taste  and  gave  an  air 
of  restfulness  to  the  apartments.  She  ascended 
the  stairway  to  her  chamber,  a  pleasant  apart- 
ment facing  the  south  and  west.  Two  windows, 
hung  with  spotless  lace,  looked  out  upon  St. 
George  street,  and  two  looked  down  upon  the 
lawn  with  its  wealth  of  floral  beauty.  The  room 
was  not  lavish  in  its  appointments.  A  center 
table,  dripping  with  faultless  needle  work,  showed 
the  touch  of  her  own  artistic  hand.  A  few  easy 
chairs,  dresser  and  luxurious  lounge,  a  bed  with 
graceful  canopy,  and  modest  axminster  on  the 
floor  completed  the  furnishings.  The  walls,  or- 
nate with  bric-a-brac,  photographs  and  souvenirs 
from  foreign  lands,  showed  the  skillful  arrange- 
ment of  a  woman's  hand. 

"What  a  day  this  has  been !"  Aida  soliloquized, 
throwing  herself  on  the  couch  and  losing  herself 
in  delightful  reverie.  Her  mind  went  back  over 
those  picturesque  and  stormy  days  in  the  moun- 
tains. She  thought  of  their  "school,"  of  the  days 
and  nights  of  peril,  of  her  capture  by  Habor  and 
their  awful  flight  down  the  mountain  road.  She 
thought  of  the  end  of  the  war  and  of  the  move- 
ments of  herself  and  father  afterward  and  of  his 
subsequent  death.  All  came  back  to  her  as  clear 
as  the  stars  in  her  beautiful  southern  sky.     There 


ROSES  AND  PALMS  295 

came  also  a  consciousness  of  her  ingratitude  to- 
ward her  lover  in  that  she  had  never  let  him  know 
of  her  movements.  "And  there  are  other  things 
which  will  gladden  us  both  by  explanation." 

She  arose  in  response  to  a  rap  at  the  door. 
On  opening  it  the  bell-boy  placed  a  letter  in  her 
hand.  She  closed  the  door  and  tore  open  the 
seal.  It  contained  a  card  with  one  line  scrawled 
across  it.      The  blood  left  her  cheeks  as  she  read : 

"I  am  Jim  Habor.  I'm  onto  your  game. 
Beware." 

"My  God,  help  us !"  she  exclaimed  as  she 
clasped  her  hands  and  pressed  them  to  her  heart. 
She  paced  the  room,  every  faculty  of  brain  and 
soul  in  tumult.  "Great  God  keep  this  serpent 
out  of  my  Eden !"  she  cried,  lifting  her  imploring 
eyes  to  heaven.  Then  she  threw  herself  on  the 
couch,  but  in  a  moment  rose  and  went  to  a  trunk 
in  the  corner  of  the  room,  took  out  the  trays  and 
down  in  the  bottom  of  it  she  found  a  little  box 
which  she  placed  on  the  table.  She  opened  it  and 
took  out  a  pistol  and  a  box  of  cartridges.  "It's 
well  enough  to  pray;  but  I'll  see  that  my  gun  is 
all  right."  She  had  not  forgotten  the  days  in 
the  mountains  when  she  had  learned  the  use  of 
firearms.  She  filled  the  cylinder  of  her  revolver, 
laid  it  on  the  table,  and  replaced  the  box  and 
trays  in  her  trunk. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only  warn  Gyp !"  she  sighed,  "but 
he  did  not  tell  me  where  he  was  lodging.  God 
be  with  him  till  we  meet  again." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  OLD  SPANISH  FORT 

AiDA  lay  with  her  pistol  under  her  head  that 
night,  though  what  she  expected  to  do  with  it 
she  scarcely  knew.  But  in  some  way  she  felt  a 
security  in  having  it  near.  She  knew  how  re- 
morseless Plabor  was,  and  she  might  need  protec- 
tion against  his  vengeance.  She  had  not  for- 
gotten her  target  practice,  and  she  felt  that  she 
might  be  called  upon  to  make  some  use  of  it  in 
personal  defense.  Habor's  enmity  might  be 
vented  upon  her  or  upon  Gyp,  but  if  upon  either 
it  would  be  upon  both.  The  tumult  in  her  soul 
was  something  terrible.  She  had  just  entered 
her  Eden.  The  happiness  for  which  she  had 
waited  so  long  had  at  last  come  to  her.  Now 
to  have  it  dashed  to  earth  as  if  beneath  an 
avalanche  of  snow ! 

"Oh,  I  wish  that  Gyp  would  come !"  she  sighed. 
But  what  would  she  say  to  him?  Would  it  be 
wise  to  tell  him  of  the  menace  contained  in  the 
note  of  the  previous  night?  It  would  destroy 
his  happiness  as  well  as  her  own.  Why  should 
she  blight  this  hour  of  his  consummate  bliss? 
Maybe  her  fears  were  unduly  aroused.  Could 
she   not   trust  her  lover  to  meet  an   emergency 

296 


THE  OLD  SPANISH  FORT  297 

should  it  ever  come?  And  if  it  should  not  come, 
why  blight  his  pleasure  with  her  direful  fore- 
bodings ? 

But  could  she  pull  the  fear  from  her  own  heart 
and  meet  him  with  a  smile,  with  the  delirious  self- 
oblivion  of  yesterday?  Could  she  cast  off  the 
presentiment  which  all  night  long  had  haunted  her, 
and  appear  her  own  dear  happy  self  when  he 
came?  She  would  try.  She  would  thrust  this 
devil  of  apprehension  out  of  the  Eden  of  her  bliss 
and  be  happy  for  the  day ;  then  she  would  tell 
him.  He  must  know.  If  anything  should  hap- 
pen to  him  unwarned,  she  would  never  forgive 
herself. 

They  had  just  made  the  circuit  of  the  terre- 
plein  at  old  Fort  Marion  and  stood  facing  the 
east.  The  Hot-shot  furnace  was  beneath  them. 
Beyond  it  the  water-battery,  on  whose  escarp- 
ment a  black-throated  cannon  crouched  like  a 
watch-dog  and  looked  sullenly  over  the  bay.  On 
their  right  the  Matanzas  river  lay  bright  in  the 
sunlight,  calm  as  a  saint  of  God  awaiting  his  cor- 
onation. The  winds  which  breathed  on  the  palms 
were  not  sufficient  to  fill  the  fisherman's  sails,  as, 
almost  imperceptibly,  they  moved  over  the  wave- 
less  water.  In  front  of  them  the  river  widened 
into  the  bay.  Anastasia  arose  green  beyond  the 
river,  with  the  white  and  black  spirals  of  the 
lighthouse  rising  out  of  its  feathery  ridge.  To 
the  left  the  sand  dunes  of  North  Beach  glistened 
in  the  sun,  and  between  the  green  of  the  marshy 


298  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

plain  on  the  south  and  the  glimmering  sand  hills 
on  the  north  the  bay  made  its  escape  into  the 
sea.  Black  backs  of  dolphins  undulated  in  the 
water  as  they  floated  here  and  there,  and  Gyp 
thought  he  understood  why,  in  the  early  days  of 
the  Spanish  explorers,  this  river  was  called  "The 
River  of  Dolphins."  Far  away  to  the  east  the 
blue  line  of  the  horizon  dipped  ocean-ward,  while 
the  ceaseless  threnody  of  the  sea  sounded  faint 
where  the  crested  sand-bars  shone  white  with  the 
combs  of  dissolving  foam. 

They  were  reclining  on  the  parapet  wrapped 
in  admiration  of  the  scene  and  its  sweet  tran- 
quillity. 

"Will  you  be  seated.?"  and  Gyp  motioned  to- 
ward an  empty  settee.  "This  beautiful  vision 
will  still  be  ours  and  we  can  look  upon  it  without 
weariness." 

Reluctantly  Aida  removed  her  eyes  from  the 
bay.  It  was  not  the  scene  that  entranced  her  at 
that  moment.  It  was  a  small  craft  near  the 
Anastasia  shore  in  which  two  men  were  seated. 
One  was  handling  the  limp  sail  and  the  other  sat 
with  his  glass  trained  upon  the  fort.  Aida  could 
not  distinguish  the  features  of  the  men,  but  there 
rushed  across  her  mind  the  warning  of  the  night 
before  and  she  thought  of  Habor.  Could  that  be 
he,  and  had  he  recognized  them?  Was  that  his 
glass  which  seemed  to  sweep  the  embrasures  in 
front  of  her.?  Then  she  gave  her  head  a  toss,  as 
if  to  say,  Why  these  fears?     Are  there  not  hun- 


THE  OLD  SPANISH  FORT  299 

dreds  of  pleasure  seekers  passing  over  these 
waters  every  day?  Why  should  not  this  historic 
fort  be  an  object  of  interest?  They  are  but 
tourists  out  for  a  sail. 

"Yes,  Gyp ;  it  is  a  beautiful  scene.  I  never 
grow  weary  of  it.  A  hundred  times  I  have  climbed 
the  grey  stairs  to  look  upon  it.  It  brings  me 
rest." 

"This  old  fort  has  some  remarkable  history," 
Gyp  observed,  glancing  about  him. 

"But  few  histories  are  more  picturesque.  That 
river  there,  the  Matanzas,  has  had  its  sands 
drenched  with  the  blood  of  many  a  martyred 
Huguenot.  It  might  well  be  called  'The  River 
of  Blood.'  But  I  do  not  care  to  speak  of  those 
horrid  days.  It  is  better  to  be  in  harmony  with 
the  happier  scenes  around  us." 

"Let  the  past  keep  its  tragedies.  Ours  be  the 
bliss  of  to-day,"  Gyp  agreed. 

"It  is  better  to  date  beginnings  from  pleasant 
events  than  from  sad  ones." 

"Some  way  I'm  not  very  philosophical  to-day. 
My  heart  is  not  in  that  scene  but  in  this  settee." 

"It  is  a  good  place  to  be,"  she  responded  with 
a  winsome  smile. 

"You  are  not  disappointed  that  I  do  not  grow 
exuberant  over  dolphins  and  fishing  smacks 
when  I  have  waited  all  these  years  for  a  sight  of 
your  blessed  face." 

"The  beauty  of  the  things  we  look  at  are  but 
comparative  after  all.     Every  hour  has  its  com- 


300  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

paratives  and  superlatives,"  she  replied  medi- 
tatively. 

"This  seems  so  unreal  to  me.  It  seems  as  if 
I  were  a  chapter  in  a  fairy  tale,  and  passing 
through  some  other  fellow's  experience." 

"Do  you  wish  it  were  a  chapter  out  of  fairy- 
land?" 

"Heaven  bless  you,  darling.  The  bliss  of  this 
hour  is  greater  than  I  ever  dared  to  dream:  I, 
the  hatless,  bootless  ragamuffin  among  the  wild 
azaleas  of  the  North  Carolina  mountains.  Isn't 
it  good  for  the  soul?"  he  exclaimed  with  a  burst 
of  laughter,  which  recalled  to  Aida  the  old  back- 
woods days. 

"Your  dreams  are  surely  coming  true,  and  so 


are  mine." 


"And  have  you  dreamed,  too?" 

"They  were  more  than  dreams." 

"What  were  they?" 

"Noonday  hopes." 

"Have  you  been  living  all  these  years  in  the 
hope  that  we  would  meet  again?" 

"It  has  been  the  one  bright  thread  of  gold  that 
ran  through  all  the  web  of  years ;  the  one  thread 
that  has  never  tarnished,  the  one  that  has  re- 
mained unsullied  amid  time  and  change,  pleasure 
and  pain." 

"And  that  hope  has  been  my  beacon  light,  even 
when  I  gave  Sam  Crew  that  walloping  out  in  the 
Lasuda  woods,"  laughed  the  glad-hearted  lover. 

"Sam  Crew?     Who  is  he.?" 


THE  OLD  SPANISH  FORT  301 

"Oh,  Sam  was  one  of  the  boys  at  school  whom 
I  had  to  trounce  in  order  to  make  him  friendly. 
He  was  a  tough  customer." 

"How  did  the  plan  succeed?" 

"Made  him  the  best  friend  I  had  among  the 
pupils." 

"That's  certainly  a  novel  method  of  making 
friends." 

"Sam  was  nothing  if  not  novel.  Oh,  but  that 
was  a  lark.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  some  day.  Let's 
take  a  walk." 

They  made  the  circuit  of  the  terreplein.  A 
few  strolling  tourists  sauntered  here  and  there, 
leaned  over  the  parapet  or  gazed  through  the 
quaint  towers  on  the  points  of  the  spear-shaped 
bastions.  As  they  descended  the  broad  stairs 
and  turned  away  from  the  fort,  Aida  said: 

"Do  you  know,  dear  Gyp,  ever  since  that  day 
on  the  Red  Swan's  Neck  a  presentiment  has  once 
and  again  swept  across  the  horizon  of  my 
brightest   hopes  ?" 

"Habor.P" 

"Yes,  Habor." 

"Oh,  you  dear,  sweet,  brave  little  girl !  Do 
not  let  such  things  worry  you.  Habor  has  dis- 
appeared from  our  knowledge  for  years.  He  left 
for  the  north  shortly  after  you  left  for  the  south, 
and  he  has  been  unknown  to  his  old  haunts  ever 
since." 

"For  all  that,  my  darling,  I  am  sometimes 
afraid.     Let  us  be  on   our  guard."     She  hoped 


302  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

from  this  he  might  understand,  or  at  least  sur- 
mise her  meaning. 

"We'll  'trust  God  and  keep  our  powder  dry.' 
We  will  not  permit  any  ill  omen  to  darken  the  sky 
of  our  happiness.  We'll  meet  our  troubles  when 
they  come.  Till  then,"  said  he,  "we  will  be 
happy." 

Arm  in  arm  they  passed  the  pj^ramids  of  black 
balls  and  antiquated  cannon  and  came  into  the 
delirious  sunlight  and  fragrance  of  the  park. 
But  neither  of  them  noticed  a  dark,  heavy-browed 
idler  who  leaned  over  the  wall  gazing  dowTi  at 
the  fiddler-crabs  in  the  marshy  bottom  of  the 
moat. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  RED  LIGHT 

As  Gyp  passed  down  street  on  his  way  to  his 
hotel  he  saw  hanging  in  front  of  a  drinking  resort 
a  red  light  which  swung,  like  a  danger  signal,  be- 
fore the  entrance.  Its  lurid  glare  was  to  him 
most  suggestive.  As  he  drew  near  he  heard 
angry  voices,  followed  by  the  report  of  a  pistol 
and  a  sharp  cry  of  pain.  The  door  flew  open  and 
a  man  plunged  into  the  street  hatless  and  coat- 
less,  whom  Gyp,  had  he  been  better  acquainted 
with  the  city,  would  have  recognized  as  Emil 
Roberts,  the  worst  desperado  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. His  arms  were  bare  to  the  elbows  and, 
pistol  in  hand,  he  fled  before  his  pursuers.  They 
called  upon  him  to  halt,  but  he  only  ran  the 
faster.  They  came  directly  toward  Gyp,  who 
stepped  aside  to  let  them  pass.  A  shot  was  fired 
by  one  of  the  pursuers.  A  fusillade  followed  in 
the  midst  of  obscenity  and  the  vilest  impreca- 
tions. Gyp  was  struck  by  a  stray  shot,  and,  with 
a  cry  of  pain,  placed  his  hand  to  his  side,  stag- 
gered toward  the  nearest  building  and  fell  heavily 
to  the  street.  He  lay  bleeding  for  some  minutes 
before  the  police  succeeded  in  dispersing  the 
crowd  and  calling  an  ambulance.     Emil  Roberts 

303 


304  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

lay  wounded  only  a  few  feet  from  where  Gyp  fell. 
He  was  thrown  into  the  ambulance  and  the  two 
wounded  men,  lying  side  by  side,  were  conveyed  to 
the  hospital. 

Gyp's  wound  was  found  to  be  severe.  The  ball 
entered  his  left  side  and  passing  obliquely 
through  the  lung,  lodged  in  the  muscles  of  the 
back.  It  gave  him  severe  pain,  and  his  pale 
face,  almost  as  white  as  the  pillow  on  which  it 
rested,  was  in  striking  contrast  to  the  ruddy 
cheeks  which  his  native  mountains  had  given  him 
as  an  inheritance.  The  only  thought  in  his  mind 
was  the  pain  which  the  news  of  his  injury  would 
bring  to  Aida.  He  managed  as  soon  as  possible 
to  have  a  note  conveyed  to  her.  She  came  at 
once  to  his  bedside,  and  with  her  love  and  sym- 
pathy and  the  deep  tenderness  of  her  ministra- 
tions made  the  first  night  of  this  most  deplo- 
rable tragedy  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  There 
was  a  blending  of  pleasure  and  pain  that  neu- 
tralized the  acuteness  of  suffering  and  added  a 
sweetness  to  their  grief. 

Aida  was  at  first  disposed  to  connect  the  injury 
to  her  lover  with  the  threat  of  Habor.  But  when 
she  came  to  the  hospital  and  learned  the  circum- 
stances surrounding  his  wounding  she  felt  that 
it  might  have  been  one  of  those  unfortunate  ac- 
cidents which  may  sometimes  happen  to  the  in- 
nocent. And  yet  she  was  not  altogether  satis- 
fied. The  matter  would  be  investigated.  jVIean- 
time  her  place  was  beside  the  sufferer. 


THE  RED  LIGHT  305 

Gyp  had  little  to  say  as  he  lay  there  so  white 
with  pain  and  the  loss  of  blood.  But  he  was  not 
unconscious  of  the  sweet  and  gentle  ministries  of 
the  angel  of  his  hope  as  she  bent  over  hini 
with  a  tenderness  which  the  angels  themselves 
might  almost  envy.  Never  were  hands  more 
soothing  or  ministries  more  sympathetic  and 
helpful.  Every  want  was  anticipated  through 
the  long  and  painful  night.  Her  hand  was  on 
his  pulse,  or  soothed  his  brow;  and  when  the 
surgeon  and  nurse  had  gone  aside  for  consulta- 
tion, she  deemed  it  neither  sin  nor  sacrilege  to 
press  her  own  warm,  ruddy  lips  against  the  pale 
cheek  of  the  sufferer.  Once  she  turned  aside  and 
bowed  her  fair  face  in  her  hands  to  weep  over  the 
needless  pain  to  the  one  she  loved.  The  calm, 
uncomplaining  heroism  with  which  he  met  his 
misfortune  was  only  superseded  by  the  brave  and 
noble  spirit  which  kind  heaven  had  sent  to  his 
side  for  such  a  time  as  this. 

In  the  meantime  the  one  who  was  the  cause  of 
all  this  suffering  and  confusion  of  hope,  the 
drunken  murderer,  Emil  Roberts,  lay  only  a  short 
distance  away  on  the  same  floor.  His  wound  was 
much  more  serious  than  Gyp's,  and  only  the  most 
careful  nursing  would  save  his  life,  and  if  saved 
it  would  be  but  for  the  gallows,  as  his  victim  of 
the  saloon  brawl  lay  dead  in  the  morgue.  The 
murder  was  so  causeless,  so  unprovoked,  that 
should  Roberts  recover  he  must  expiate  his  guilt 
in    accordance   with   that    age-old,    universal   law 


306  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

of  our  race,  "Whoso  sheddeth  man's  blood  by  man 
shall  his  blood  be  shed." 

Days  and  weeks  passed.  Aida  was  untiring 
in  her  attendance  upon  her  lover.  But  not  in- 
frequently she  paused  at  the  cot  of  the  poor 
wretch  who  had  been  the  cause  of  all  her  distress 
and  the  bodily  pain  of  the  one  whom  she  held  so 
dear.  For  this  man  she  entertained  no  enmity. 
Many  a  delicacy  she  left  at  his  couch  in  the 
name  of  Him  who  assures  us  that  such  kindness 
shall  not  fail  of  its  reward.  Not  infrequently 
she  shared  with  him  some  provision  which  she  had 
prepared  for  the  one  whose  white  cot  was  now  the 
dearest  spot  on  earth  to  her.  She  could  not 
have  it  in  her  heart  to  cherish  resentment  against 
one  whose  suffering  was  so  keen  and  who  must 
so  soon  appear  before  the  judgment  bar  of  God. 
She  would  not  turn  aside  from  a  kindness  which 
might  bring  some  brief  ray  of  sunshine  into  his 
heart  and  lead  him  to  serious  thoughts. 

Meanwhile  Gyp  was  rapidly  recovering.  He 
was  beginning  to  converse  hopefully  with  those 
about  him.  One  day,  as  he  leaned  against  a  bar- 
ricade of  pillows,  Aida  pulled  a  chair  up  along- 
side and  said: 

"Gyp,  dear,  I  have  something  real  good  to  tell 
you." 

"Everything  you  tell  me,  dearest,  is  good,  al- 
ways good,"  and  he  laid  his  pale  hand  upon  hers. 
"What  is  it  now,  dear?" 

"Darling,  I  have  been  waiting  a  long  time  for 


THE  RED  LIGHT  307 

this  opportunity.  But  the  doctor  cautioned  me 
to  wait  until  you  were  stronger.  Now  you  will 
soon  be  able  to  leave  the  hospital  and  there  can- 
not be  any  possible  danger,  so  I  am  not  going 
to  keep  my  secret  any  longer." 

"And  you  have  been  hiding  secrets  from  me  all 
these  weeks.  What  a  remarkable  woman  you 
are." 

"You  didn't  think  I  could  do  it.?  But  then 
you  know  I  had  to.  When  it  comes  to  saving 
your  precious  life,  I  can  keep  a  secret.  Now, 
here  it  is :  do  you  remember  the  escaped  prisoner, 
Mr.  Conway,  who  came  to  your  father's  home 
years  ago.^"' 

"Indeed  I  do  remember  him,  very  well." 

"And  do  you  remember  the  time  I  met  you  both 
in  my  little  boat  that  dark  night,  and  then  later 
when  Mr.  Conway  left  us  and  made  his  way  North 
to  join  the  Federal  army.'"' 

"Very  distinctly,  dear,"  and  Gyp  wondered 
why  she  asked  these  questions. 

"Ten  days  or  more  ago  I  had  a  visit  from  Mr. 
Conway.     Now  you   are  surprised,   I  know." 

"Indeed  you  do  surprise  me.  There  is  no  man 
I  would  rather  meet.      Is  he  still  here?" 

"No,  he  has  gone.  But  you  will  see  him  later. 
You  were  too  ill  to  see  him  at  the  time.  He  came 
hurriedly,  especially  on  your  account,  and  was 
very  much  disappointed  in  not  seeing  you,  but 
was  rejoiced  to  know  that  you  were  on  the  sure 
road  to  recovery." 


308  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"How  did  he  know  I  was  here?" 

"Gyp,  dear,  the  awful  tragedy  of  that  night 
when  you  were  so  sorely  wounded  was  published 
everywhere.  Mr.  Conway  saw  an  account  of  it 
in  a  northern  paper  and  he  dropped  his  business 
and  came  down  to  see  you  and  render  what  aid 
he  could." 

"That  was  certainly  most  kind  of  him.  I  wish 
I  could  have  seen  him." 

"He's  such  a  fine  looking  man ;  not  much  like 
the  skeleton  that  came  tottering  to  your  door. 
He  said  that  since  the  war  he  had  lost  track  of 
you,  and  many  a  time  had  wondered  what  had  be- 
come of  the  barefoot  lad  who  had  befriended 
him  when  there  was  only  a  step  between  him  and 
death.  He  is  an  iron  manufacturer  in  Pennsyl- 
vania and  is  at  the  head  of  an  extensive  business. 
More  than  that,  Gyp,  he  has  made  you  an  offer 
of  a  very  lucrative  position  in  the  mills  as  soon 
as  you  are  able  to  travel.  He  will  write  jj^ou  in 
a  few  days  giving  particulars,  and  will  later  call 
upon  you.  And  so,  dear,  you  see  your  misfor- 
tune has  not  been  wholly  a  misfortune,  for  it  has 
given  you  a  powerful  friend,  provided  a  lucra- 
tive business;  and  then  just  think  of  how  much 
dearer  we  are  to  each  other  than  ever  before." 

"My  darling,  it  did  not  need  any  such  pain 
as  we  have  endured  to  prove  our  love  for  each 
other.  But,  somehow,  it  all  seems  too  good  to 
be  true," 

"It  does  seem  that  way ;  and  how  do  you  sup- 


THE  RED  LIGHT  309 

pose  I  kept  it  all  these  many  days,"  she  answered 
smilingly,  and  patted  his  pale  cheek  tenderly. 
"Do  you  know  it  reminds  me  of  Samson's  riddle?" 

"Samson's  riddle?     What's  that?" 

"Oh,  you  precious  heathen !  Don't  you  know 
your  Bible?  Listen:  'Out  of  the  eater  came 
forth  meat  and  out  of  the  strong  came  forth 
sweetness.'  " 

"That's  a  beautiful  riddle,  but  I  don't  see  any 
point  to  it." 

"You  blessed  skeptic !  Now  don't  be  too 
critical,  please,  and  remember  that  I  never 
studied  theology,  except  in  your  'School  of  Philos- 
ophy.' But  let  this  be  the  interpretation  of  the 
thing:  Out  of  your  adversity  has  come  forth 
a  changed  destiny,  and  out  of  your  pain  has 
come  forth  fortune.  Now  how  do  you  think  I 
would  do  for  a  professor  in  exegesis,  or  what- 
ever the  word  is?" 

"Bless  you,  darling,  you  are  equal  to  a  whole 
theological  seminar}^,  and  a  nunnery  thrown  in 
for  good  measure.  But,  talking  about  fortunes 
reminds  me  that  I  have  yet  to  tell  you  of  my 
great  discovery."  Gyp  then  told  his  sweetheart 
of  the  crystal  caverns  and  of  what  he  had  found 
there  in  the  King's  Treasury ;  he  told  her  of  his 
twilight  plannings  with  Miss  Larue  and  of  the 
use  he  desired  to  make  of  his  riches.  And  as  they 
talked  together  they  already  saw  in  vision  a  great 
moral  and  intellectual  transformation,  educa- 
tional  and   religious    centers    to   which   the   boys 


310  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

and  girls  were  coming  as  doves  to  their  windows. 
They  saw  the  lowly  cabins  giving  place  to  cultured 
homes,  church  spires  and  college  belfries.  They 
saw  flouring  mills  and  manufacturing  plants  take 
the  place  of  the  crude  still,  and  the  rugged  patri- 
otism of  the  people  forging  to  a  higher  civiliza- 
tion when  the  mountains  and  the  hills  would  sing 
together  in  mutual  prosperity. 

The  days  following  this  conversation  Gyp  was 
Avonderfully  exuberant.  He  longed  for  the  time 
when  he  would  be  discharged  from  the  hospital. 
His  companion  in  suffering  grew  daily  more  sullen 
and  uncommunicable;  at  times  so  profane  and 
blasphemous  that  he  was  unapproachable.  His 
wounds  healed  slowly.  He  had  little  to  say  to  his 
nurse.  He  was  peevish,  fretful,  complaining, 
when  not  too  sullen  to  speak  at  all.  He  was  irri- 
tated by  the  pleasantries  of  those  who  tried  to 
cheer  him,  and  gave  vent  to  frequent  outbursts 
of  profanity  Avhen  the  least  thing  went  wrong. 
When  told  that  Gyp  would  soon  be  out  of  the 
hospital  he  became  furious  and  cursed  the  un- 
happy fate  which  compelled  him  to  suffer  when 
others  were  enjoying  freedom  from  bodily  tor- 
ture. His  face  grew  livid,  and  he  railed  out  at 
Gyp  and  Aida,  the  nurse,  and  everyone  who  came 
near  or  had  anything  to  do  with  him. 

His  passion  was  terrible,  and  some  were  in- 
clined to  think  him  insane  from  his  suffering. 
Watching  his  opportunity  when  his  physician  and 
nurse  were  out  of  the  room,  and  Aida  had  gone 


THE  RED  LIGHT  311 

down  street  on  an  errand,  he  arose  from  his  cot 
and  made  his  way  tremblingly  and  half-blind  in 
his  weakness  toward  the  couch  where  Gyp  lay 
asleep.  He  staggered  along  the  way,  holding  on 
to  chairs  and  tables  until  he  reached  the  cot 
whereon  the  sleeper  lay  unconscious  of  what  was 
before  him.  Roberts  glared  down  at  him  a  mo- 
ment like  a  wild  animal,  then  grasping  him  by 
the  throat  with  his  weak  and  nerveless  hand, 
threw  himself  upon  him  and  hissed  through  his 
teeth : 

"Curse  you,  I've  got  you  at  last !  You're  in 
my  power  now.  You  don't  remember  me.  You 
think  my  name's  Roberts.  It's  a  lie.  It's  Ha- 
bor.  Jim  Habor.  Do  you  know  me  now,  you 
cursed  rat !  This  beard  has  been  my  disguise. 
We  met  on  the  Red  Swan's  Neck.  Now  we  meet 
on  the  brink  of  hell.  Prepare  to  meet  your  God. 
Your  wound  was  not  an  accident.  I  shot  you, 
and  I  shot  to  kill.  I've  shadowed  that  girl  for 
months.  There's  the  wound  she  made  on  my 
wrist  and  here's  the  scar  of  the  gunshot  in  my 
side.  Curse  her  and  you !  I've  watched  you 
both  since  you  came.  Now  it's  the  end.  Die !" 
and  he  grasped  a  knife,  a  short-bladed  fruit  knife 
which  the  nurse  had  left  on  the  stand,  and  with 
all  the  hate  and  enfeebled  strength  which  he  could 
command,  his  devilish  eyes  flashing  their  triumph, 
raised  his  trembling  arm  to  strike,  when,  like 
Abraham  of  old,  the  uplifted  hand  was  stayed  as 
the  blood  rushed  to  his  brain.     The  room  grew 


312  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

black  as  night  about  him ;  his  knees  gave  way  and 
he  fell  to  the  floor  as  a  sack  of  grain  might  have 
fallen.  A  few  minutes  later  when  the  nurse  en- 
tered the  room  she  found  Habor  dead  on  the 
floor  and  Gyp  speechless  from  the  shock. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE  OLD  PARSON  GOES  A  FISHING 

One  of  the  surprises  that  awaited  Gyp  on  his 
discharge  from  the  hospital  was  the  finding  of  his 
old  friend,  the  Rev.  William  Watchcob  at  the 
breakfast  table  the  first  morning  after  going  to  his 
hotel.  He  was  the  same  old,  angular,  grey- 
bearded  man,  much  older  in  appearance,  but  with 
the  same  snappy  eyes  hidden  beneath  their  craggy 
brows. 

"Ever  go  a  fishin'?"  the  old  man  inquired  after 
a  dozen  or  more  questions  had  been  asked  and 
answered. 

"Not  in  this  neighborhood,"  responded  the 
young  convalescent. 

"Like  fishin'.'"'  without  raising  his  eyes  from 
the  breakfast  table. 

"I'm  not  greatly  interested." 

"Well  I  am.  I  look  upon  fishin'  as  a  very  or- 
thodox callin' ;  has  good  ancestry  about  the  old 
lake  o'  Galilee.  Comes  well  connected.  Con- 
duces to  repose  o'  soul,  fishin'  does.  It  gives  the 
nerves  a  sort  o'  felicitous  settin'.  Twixt  nibbles 
lies  the  promised  land  o'  Contemplation,  and  twixt 
contemplations  you  haul  in  your  suckers.  Want 
to  go.?" 

313 


314  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

"I've  some  mighty  important  business  on  hand, 
parson." 

"Drop  business  and  fish." 

"Back  by  noon?" 

"Long  afore  it.     I'll  come  when  ye  wanter." 

"Then  I'll  go."  After  his  long  confinement  he 
thought  the  outing  would  do  him  good. 

"Driver,"  said  the  old  man  a  little  later,  "you 
know  where  I  was  yesterday?     Drive  us  there." 

They  drove  out  of  town,  through  long  reaches 
of  palmetto  scrub  and  patches  of  pine  where  the 
verdureless  sand  lay  glistening  in  the  sun, 

"Yes,  Gyp,  I'm  still  a  Baptis'  preacher,  re- 
tired from  active  service.  I'm  cnjoyin'  the  con- 
solations o'  my  theology  'thout  pesterin'  about 
unrooly  sinners  or  bein'  pestered  by  'em.  But 
you  see  I  still  have  a  hankerin'  after  the  water, 
same  as  a  loon,  same  as  a  goose.  Hence  my 
fishin'  proclivities.  A  Baptis',  y'  know,  is  a 
creetur  partakin'  largely  o'  the  duck  natur. 
Divin'  an'  paddlin'  in  the  crick  is  sort  o'  heredi- 
tary. No  matter  how  far  you  carry  him  into  the 
scrub  he  will  waddle  back  quack-quackin'  to  the 
pool.  Ye  can't  wean  'im  f'm  the  aqueous  ele- 
ment." 

When  they  reached  the  water  the  old  man  lost 
no  time  in  getting  down  to  work,  and  was  better 
rewarded  for  his  toil  than  the  ordinary  piscato- 
rial adventurer.  Every  catch  was  followed  with 
a  running  comment,  or  homily,  with  his  fish  for  a 
text. 


PARSON  GOES  A  FISHING  315 

"You're  a  well-to-do  sort  of  a  fellow,"  he  com- 
mented, as  he  twisted  the  hook  out  of  the  mouth 
of  a  speckled  perch.  "H-e-m !  a  leader  among 
your  companions,  I  allow ;  a  sort  o'  spotted  poli- 
tician, mayhap,  but  ye  got  the  graft  in  yer  gills 
once  too  often.  Ye've  been  in  some  sort  o'  ras- 
cally business,  and  3'e'r  spots  won't  wash  out — a 
sort  o'  Lady  Macbeth,  lackin'  the  pettycoats. 
Ye'r  sides  are  sleek  an'  3'e'r  fins  are  sharp,  an' 
3^e'r  built  for  gettin'  thar ;  but,  ha !  ha !  ha !  ye'r 
landed !  ye'r  landed !  The  slippery  sinners  '11 
sometimes  get  caught  on  the  gospill  hook — some- 
times !  Now  there  was  Bunyan,  and  there  was 
Luther,  and  there  was  Jerry  McAuley,  and  there 
was — " 

The  line  fairly  whizzed  through  the  air  and  a 
poor  little  "shiner"  shot  aloft  and  whirled  like  a 
leaf  of  the  quaking-ash,  and  tearing  itself  from 
the  hook,  disappeared  in  the  water. 

"Gone  b'gosh !  Just  like  some  sinners  I  know 
of.  We  throw  out  the  line  o'  invitation.  They 
parley,  they  trifle,  they  nibble  at  the  truth,  whisk 
around  and  come  back  an'  go  to  dawdlin'  again. 
Smell  at  it,  peck  at  it,  taste  of  it,  wink  and  blink 
and  work  their  gills,  then,  maybe,  take  the  bait 
o'  truth  in  the  aidgc  o'  their  triflin'  jaws,  stid  o' 
takin'  a  good  square  holt  and  holdin'  on.  We 
pull,  as  in  good  grace  we  are  bound  to  do ;  and 
about  the  time  we  think  we  got  'em  landed  on  the 
shores  o'  the  kingdom  they  wriggle  off  the  hook 
and  drop  back  again  into  worldliness.     It's  the 


316  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

natural  result  o'  too  much  nibblin'.  Don't  nib- 
ble, young  man.  Bite,  lay  holt.  Get  a  good 
square  grip ;  clap  ye'r  maxillaries  right  down  on 
the  truth,  snap  ye'r  teeth  into  it,  and,  my  eye! 
but  ye'll  get  thar. 

"There,  see  that?  See  that,  young  man?"  A 
glistening  bream  hung  whirling  from  the  line's  end 
like  a  plummet  of  silver.  The  old  parson  threw 
it  at  his  feet  where  it  flopped  around  and  danced 
a  minuet  on  nose  and  tail  and  beat  time  on  the 
dry  planks  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  reverend 
father. 

"He  conducts  himself  like  one  o'  the  vain  fel- 
lows," sneered  the  old  fisherman.  "A  society 
scapegrace,  without  doubt.  Probably  belongs  to 
the  high  Church,  and  thinks  'cause  this  isn't  lient 
it  don't  make  no  difference  what's  doin'.  Upper 
crust,  'thout  a  doubt ;  one  o'  the  godless  300 !  O 
yes,"  he  rambled  on  as  he  twisted  a  shrimp  onto 
his  hook  and  flung  it  hissing  onto  the  water, 
"I've  seen  lots  o'  sinners  jus'  like  that  shameless 
bream.  Get  'em  into  the  church  and  they  won't 
be  still  a  minute.  They  want  to  dance,  or  play 
eucher,  or  fool  with  the  fiddle,  or  run  to  the  god- 
less the-a-ter  and  keep  the  young  folks  in  per- 
petual hot  water,  an'  hot  water  haint  no  part  o' 
the  Baptis'  constitution  an'  by-laws.  The 
preacher  has  to  run  his  dear  laigs  off^  keepin' 
them  in  line.  Admonition  has  no  more  effeck  on 
'em  than  a  shower  bath  on  a  'gator.  An'  prayer 
meetin'?     Ye  couldn't  keep  'em  in  there  'cept  ye 


PARSON  GOES  A  FISHING  317 

tie  'em  to  a  pillar,  lock  the  door  an'  have  their 
vittles  fotched  to  'em.  An'  then,  ten  to  one, 
they'd  pull  the  staple  out  and  get  away,  specially 
if  they  is  Baptis's.  What  that  sort  needs  is  sus- 
tainin'  grace  to — 

"Oh,  there  now !  Tubs  and  firkins,  what  a 
shame !"  And  he  pulled  out  a  fish  no  larger  than 
a  slice  of  a  potato.  "Poor  thing !  Here,  3'ou : 
go  right  back  into  the  water!  Stay  there  and 
don't  be  meddlin'  again  with  temptation.  And 
that  reminds  me  o'  the  little  folks  in  this  all- 
around  work  o'  the  kingdom.  They,  too,  get 
caught  on  the  gospill  hook.  And,  indeed,  I  think 
it  seasonable  and  scripturally  reasonable  that  the 
kids  should  be  trained  up  in  the  sanctuary  with 
suitable  pastoral  supervision  and  admonitory 
oversight.  The  little  minnows  need  angle-worms 
as  well  as  the  big,  green-eyed,  envious  bass.  But 
for  all  that  I  don't  encourage  'em  joinin'  the 
church  too  young — too  young,  mind  you.  I've 
had  to  throw  'em  back  into  the  water  to  let  'em 
grow  a  bit.  Feed  'em  on  the  catechism  and 
gristle  and  see  that  they  be  a  digestin'  the  nutri- 
ment. Catechism,  like  homeopathy,  is  good  for 
children.  They  should  tackle  it  with  a  realizin' 
sense  an'  not  take  the  hook  in  their  gills  'thout 
considerin'.  Like  fishes  they  are  best  when  not 
caught  too  young.  But  how  young?  Now  that 
is  a  question.  Children,  like  these  piscatorial 
nibblers,  differ ;  and  home  training  is  a  provender 
that  you've  got  to  figger  on.     But  I  must  say  as 


318  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

how  home  trainin'  don't  put  much  hair  on  the 
hide  these  times,  beggin'  yer  pardon,  young  man, 
for  mixin'  the  figger. 

"Sakes  alive!"  ejaculated  the  good  man,  with 
that  prodigal  abandon  of  speech  so  characteristic 
of  those  who  angle  in  many  waters.  "What'n  the 
name  o'  Jordan's  stormy  banks  has  got  onto  that 
hook?  See  it!  See  it!  I'd  jus'  like  to  know! 
Such  lawlessness  and  irregularity  o'  procedure  I 
never  see  since  we  ejeckted  Brother  Shamokin 
from  the  conference  for  contumacy.  Yes,  an'  for 
usin'  langwidge  that  wouldn't  weigh  sixteen 
ounces  to  the  pound.  He  wa'n't  even  up  to  the 
Baptis's  low  water  mark.  How  that  creetur 
pulls  !  I  bet  you  a  Rous's  version  'gain  a  pair 
overalls  it's  a  'gator!" 

He  tried  to  land  it ;  but  the  rod  sprang  into  a 
hoop  with  no  result.  The  denizen  of  the  deep 
held  its  own.  The  parson  swung  his  pole  hither 
and  yon  and  the  line  sung  through  the  water  like 
a  thread  in  the  window  when  the  winds  are  up. 
But  the  catch  floundered  about  as  if  it  was  not 
particularly  concerned  about  the  movements  on 
the  pier.  It  would  not  "play"  according  to  any 
recognized  authority.  In  that  event  the  good 
father  would  have  gone  by  the  "book."  There 
seemed  to  be  nothing  in  the  "Standards"  to  meet 
the  case.  The  "higher  critics"  were  silent  on 
landing  a  thing  like  that.  They  were  better  at 
"diggin'  for  grubs  than  for  catchin'  fish.  They 
know  all  about  the  whale  and  the  size  o'  his  thrap- 


PARSON  GOES  A  FISHING         319 

pie,  but  when  it  comes  to  helpin'  ole  Baptis' 
preachers  catch  sinners  or  suckers  they'r  off  bur- 
rowin'  in  the  sand  like  woodchucks.  They'r  down- 
pullin'  'stead  o'  up-buildin'." 

"Better  let  him  go,  parson,"  suggested  Gyp. 

"What  ?  And  lose  a  two-dollar-and-a-half  pole, 
line,  bobber  and  hook?  Boy,  I'm  an  old  Baptis' 
preacher,  but  I  hain't  no  ejit.  There's  sumthin' 
down  thar ;  an'  it's  alius  bigger  when  you  can't  see 
it.  That  fish  may  be  a  little  Antinomian,  or  like 
some  o'  them  ]Methodisses  w^ho  pull  on  the  gospill 
hook  'thout  shettin'  their  mouths:  jes  up  an'  hol- 
ler an'  pull  on  the  line  an'  work  their  gills  an' 
wag  for  more.  Cayn't  blame  'em,  howsomever, 
if  they're  gettin'  the  genooine  bait.  The  more  ye 
get  the  fatter  ye  is.  But  this  here  contumachus 
sinner'll  know  more  when  I  land  him  plump  on 
the  dock." 

The  venerable  divine  felt  himself  without  "prec- 
edent." No  twist  of  the  pole  would  bring  up 
that  denizen  of  the  deep. 

"This  is  abnormal ;  it  is  onprecedented,  and  I 
must  do  as  I  am  led."  With  that  the  old  man 
dropped  the  pole  on  the  planks,  laid  hold  of  the 
line  with  his  two  clerical  hands  and  pulled  for 
dear  life.  But  the  catch  dragged  like  a  stone  at 
the  bottom.  Then  he  turned  with  his  back  to  the 
water  and  drew  the  line  over  his  shoulder,  as  if 
drawing  a  load  of  wood  up  hill.  When  he  had 
drawn  his  fish  to  the  side  of  the  pier  he  turned 
about,    wrapped    the    line    about    his    hands    and 


820  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

pulled  straight  up.  He  was  doing  "as  he  was 
led,"  when  the  line  caught  in  a  crack  in  one  of 
the  planks  and  suddenly  snapped.  The  parson 
turned  a  back  somersault  and  fell  into  the  water 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  pier. 

"By  heck!"  he  sputtered,  as  he  flung  the  water 
out  of  his  nose  and  eyes. 

Gyp  ran  to  his  help,  but  the  old  fisherman 
emerged  from  his  cool  bath  and  floated  ashore, 
sputtering  like  a  seal,  with  his  hair  in  his  eyes 
and  his  beard  in  ropes  and  his  thin  trousers  cling- 
ing to  his  limbs  like  wet  paper  to  the  palings 
after  a  storm. 

"Young  man!"  he  puffed  and  snorted  as  he 
climbed  up  the  bank,  dripping  like  a  merino  in 
sheep-washing.  "Young  man,  come  here!  Bear 
me  witness ;  y'  see  I'm  ashore,  and  I  havn't  made 
one  untoward  or  infelicitous  observation;  not  one 
to  which  you  could  fix  an  exclamation  point,  'cept 
'by  heck!'  an'  'by  heck!'  's  orthodox  Baptis'  for 
dammit.  Many  a  man  in  my  predicament  would 
have  blurted  out  things  unmailable  and  unspell- 
able.  He  would  have  used  language  for  all  that 
was  in  it.  He  would  have  thrown  off  the  brakes 
regardless  of  the  stress  on  the  britchen  and  let 
her  go.  But  here  I  stand  a  soggy  monyment  to 
the  integerty  o'  the  ministry  and  the  Third 
C'mandment." 

"Can  I  be  of  any  help  to  you,  parson.?"  Gyp 
solicitously  inquired.  "Hadn't  we  better  drive  to 
a  near-by  house  where  you  may  be  able  to  make 


PARSON  GOES  A  FISHING         321 

some  changes  in  your  raiment?"  but  for  the  life 
of  him  he  could  scarcely  keep  back  the  tears  of 
laughter.  It  hurt  his  side  so  that  he  was  afraid 
his  wound  would  break  out  afresh. 

"What,  go  away  and  lose  that  fish?  I'm  a 
Baptis'  and  a  sticker.  I'll  trust  the  Lord  and 
keep  these  britches  on  till  that  thing's  landed.  I 
speak  as  in  a  figger  and  not  after  the  manner  of 
my  seek." 

His  clothing  stuck  to  him  as  if  it  had  been 
glued  there,  yet  he  seized  the  broken  end  of  the 
line  which  still  stuck  in  the  plank  and  with  a  lit- 
tle more  caution  began  to  draw  up,  as  one  would 
draw  a  bucket  out  of  a  well,  hand  under  hand. 
The  first  thing  he  saw  was  a  great  mouth  coming 
up  out  of  the  water,  then  a  couple  of  flexible 
horns  and  two  glistening  eyes  that  shone  above 
the  encircling  ripples.  Parson  Watchcob's  blood 
began  to  creep,  his  hat  fell  into  the  water,  but  he 
kept  on  pulling.  Then  he  saw  a  long,  dark,  slip- 
pery, rubber-like  back  with  the  color  shading  into 
satiny  white  on  the  belly. 

"Shades  of  Jonah  and  the  whale !  It's  a  cat ! 
a  measly,  pharisaical  catfish !" 

He  flung  it  on  the  pier ;  and  the  great,  grue- 
some creature  writhed  and  yawned  and  twisted 
its  exorbitant  mouth,  worked  its  flexible  horns 
and  stared  at  the  preacher  with  glassy  eyes,  as 
if  to  say:  "I'd  just  like  to  get  a  good  hold  of 
you  for  a  minute !" 

But  the  old  divine  looked  down  upon  his  victim 


322  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

as  if  ashamed  to  have  wasted  on  it  so  much  phy- 
sical energy  and  unprofitable  speculation,  to  say 
nothing  of  a  good  orthodox  immersion.  Then  he 
tied  his  broken  line,  baited  his  hook,  threw  it  on 
the  water  and  blurted: 

"It's  often  the  misfortune  o'  the  minister  o' 
the  gospill  to  be  taken  in  with  a  thing  like  that ! 
That  groveling  cat  looks  and  acts  for  all  the 
world  like  a  dastard  infidel.  They're  always  try- 
in'  to  get  the  preachers  into  deep  water,  and, 
dodgastem,  they  sometimes  succeed !  But  we  land 
'em  at  last,  once  the  hook  is  in  their  jaws.  Reg- 
ular agnostic,  he  is !  Look  at  his  mouth.  I 
never  see  so  much  capacity  put  to  so  poor  a  use. 
Wouldn't  that  make  the  ordinary  infidel  green 
with  envy  and  kindle  the  fires  o'  jealousy  in  the 
soul  of  a  higher  critic?  What  magnificent  re- 
sources goin'  to  waste.  Agnostic  through  and 
through  or  my  diagnose  fails.  These  critters 
sometimes  mingle  with  more  wholesome  fishes,  as 
infidels  with  better  folk.  But  who  eats  a  catfish.? 
Who  loves  a  catfish?  Who  writes  sonnets  to  a 
catfish?  Nay,  verily.  As  the  catfish  among  the 
fishes,  so  is  the  infidel  among  the  sons  of  men." 

With  that  he  reeled  up  his  line,  the  disgust 
plainly  showing  in  his  countenance. 

"Come  on,  young  man.  Even  a  Baptis'  knows 
when  he's  had  enough  o'  water.  Come  along 
home." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
ON  THE   SEA  WALL 

AiDA  and  Gyp,  their  hospital  days  happily 
over,  stood  upon  the  sea  wall.  The  moon  rose 
out  of  the  deep  and  silvered  the  watery  east.  Old 
ocean  glistened  like  a  plain  of  isinglass.  Across 
the  shimmering  desert  of  water  a  boulevard  of 
light  ran  from  the  moon's  disk  to  the  grey  spit 
of  sand  on  the  glimmering  beach,  climbed  the 
long  comb  of  dunes  and  lost  itself  in  the  marsh- 
green  of  Anastasia.  Falling  upon  the  Matanzas 
the  moon-ribbon  bound  the  sea-wall  where  the  lov- 
ers stood  to  the  soft  lunar  placque  that  shone  so 
benign  and  far  away.  The  thin  blade  of  the  is- 
land alone  severed  the  path  of  glory  which  joined 
these  far-flung  terminals. 

"The  dream !  The  dream  !"  exclaimed  Gyp  en- 
thusiastically, as  he  pointed  his  index  finger  to- 
ward the  sea. 

"What  dream.?"  Aida  inquired,  as  she  looked 
into  his  animated  face. 

"The  dream  that  helped  me  solve  the  riddle." 
"Now,  dear,  you  are  talking  in  riddles." 
"Bless  you,  darling,  I  had  forgotten.     Did  you 
ever  hear  of  a  mysterious  little  problem  prepared 
by  two  sweet  young  ladies  and  given  to  an  unso- 

323 


SM  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

phisticated  mountaineer  away  out  yonder  in  the 
land  of  the  sky?" 

"A  problem?  Two  young  ladies?  Off  in  the 
mountains?"  she  responded  in  a  trinity  of  in- 
terrogations and  a  sweet  assumption  of  ignorance. 

"Yep !"  laughed  Gyp,  lapsing  into  his  native 
vernacular. 

"Young  ladies !  a  dream !  I  know  nothing  of 
any  dream." 

"It  is  this  way :  Two  very  interesting  gentle 
folk  gave  me  a  geographical  problem,  and  before 
I  solved  it  I  had  a  dream,  and  the  beautiful  vi- 
sion which  I  saw  in  my  dream  was  the  same  that 
lies  before  us  here  to-night." 

"Oh,  tell  me  about  it!  Do.  You  excite  my 
curiosity." 

"Look  at  the  scene  and  you  behold  the  dream. 
There  is  one  thing  different." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"I  wasn't  in  the  dream ;  but  I'm  here." 

"The  mystery  deepens." 

"And  the  young  lady  of  the  vision  was  the  fair- 
est I  ever  saw." 

"Now  I'm  going  to  be  jealous." 

"There  is  the  river — ^just  as  I  saw  it  in  my 
dream ;  yonder  looms  the  lighthouse ;  here  are 
the  ships,  the  island  and  the  light  foam  tumbling 
on  the  beach.  Oh,  it's  the  same  scene,  Aida,  dear, 
the  same  scene !  It's  the  dream,  the  dream !"  and 
he  clapped  his  hands  exult ingly. 


ON  THE  SEA  WALL  325 

"You  seem  to  be  having  a  splendid  good  time 
with  it,  all  to  yourself,"  laughed  the  merry- 
hearted  girl.  "Won't  you  be  kind  enough  to  un- 
wind your  spool  a  little  for  the  sake  of  your 
precious  ignoramus?" 

"I'm  unraveling,  darling,  and  I  think  you  un- 
derstand how  to  wind  up  the  yarn  pretty  well. 
Listen :  I  saw  tall  palmettoes,  and  here  they  are ; 
I  beheld  long  Spanish  mosses  swaying  in  the  winds 
like  old  men's  beards,  and  there  on  the  trees  are 
the  mosses,  my  dear." 

"And  I'm  likely  to  be  moss-grown  before  I  am 
much  wiser,"  and  her  rollicking  laugh  was  con- 
tagious. But  Gyp  resisted  the  infection  and 
went  right  on : 

"I  heard  mocking-birds  sing,  as  we  heard  them 
to-day,  sweet  and  rhythmical  as  your  own  happy 
voice.  And  I  saw  on  all  sides  rare  and  beautiful 
flowers,  well-dressed  people  with  bright  smiles  and 
happy  faces,  and  best  of  all,  I  saw  a  radiant 
maiden — " 

"Yes,  I  heard  that  a  moment  ago.  You  see 
now  I  am  jealous,"  and  she  gave  his  arm  a  sug- 
gestive squeeze  just  to  let  him  know  that  she  did 
not  mean  a  word  of  it.  "Can't  you  tell  me  about 
her.?" 

"My  vocabulary  is  not  equal  to  the  occasion  or 
the  subject.  She  was  an  exquisite  creature,  and 
she  looked  toward  the  east,  just  as  we  are  look- 
ing now.     The  ships  stood  upon  the  sea,  just  as 


326  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

they  stand  now.  The  island  lay  blank  across  my 
vision,  just  as  it  lies  now.  It's  all  there,  m}^  dear 
one!  The  young  lady  was  robed  in  spotless 
white,  just  as  she  is  robed  now.  Her  throat  and 
fingers  flashed  with  jewels,  just  as  they  flash 
now.  Her  face  was  fair  and  sweet  as  the  face  of 
an  angel,  just  as  it  is  now,  with  a  bit  of  the  blush 
of  the  sunrise  in  it." 

"Oh,  Gyp,  I  can't  stand  this.  No  wonder  her 
cheeks  were  red,  as  mine  are  now.  Listen  to  me. 
I  have  a  thousand  things  to  tell  you  before  you 
go  farther." 

"Wait,  darling,"  and  he  stooped  and  kissed  the 
sunrise  blush  on  her  cheek,  then,  with  anointed 
lips  he  went  right  on : 

"And  this  lovely  creature  looked  upon  the  river 
so  sweetly  that  the  river  was  charmed ;  and  in  my 
dream  I  heard  her  say : — " 

"What  did  you  hear  her  say?" 

"Nothing !" 

"Nothing?" 

"I  mean  she  got  no  whither  with  her  speech." 

"A  most  entertaining  female,  surely." 

"But  she  led  me  on  a  most  delightful  quest." 

"I'm  listening." 

"This,  beloved,  is  what  she  said:  'As  these 
rivers  unite  and  flow  to  the  sea,  so  shall  the  lives 
of  Gyp  Stybright— '  " 

"Oh,  go  on ;  go  on.  I'm  wonderfully  in- 
terested." 

"That's  all.     She  got  no  farther.     You  see  I 


ON  THE  SEA  WALL  327 

awoke,  and  awaking  spoiled  the  vision.  Now  I'm 
waiting  for  her  to  finish  the  sentence !" 

"Oh,  what  a  sweet,  old,  tantalizing  fellow  you 
are !" 

"The  dream  was  heaven  to  me ;  and  I  am  now 
waiting  for  the  angel  to  swing  the  doors  ajar  and 
let  me  in. 


?» 


"Gyp,  dear,  that's  magnificent.  I  have  never 
been  so  near  the  celestial  gates  in  my  life  as  just 
right  now.  But  I  must  explain  things  before  I 
let  you  go  any  farther." 

"What  things?" 

"Things  that  lie  between  our  parting  on  the 
mountains  and  our  meeting  here." 

"Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead." 

"It  cannot.  Only  the  living  can  bury  the  dead. 
But  this  is  neither  death,  funeral  nor  epitaph  for 
either  of  us." 

"No,  darling.  It  is  a  resurrection.  There- 
fore let  the  old  years  go.  Whatever  you  did  was 
right.  Whatever  you  failed  to  do  was  right,  and 
that's  the  end  on't.  Let  me  ask,  what  of  that 
conundrum   about  the  rivers.?" 

"Oh,  that  artless  riddle  about  finding  the  city 
between  the  rivers  and  you  would  find  happiness.? 
That  was  but  a  bit  of  girl  fun  to  introduce  the 
subject  nearest  your  heart  and  mine." 

"But  if  I  had  failed.?" 

"But  you  did  not." 

"Now,  you  darling  girl,  tell  me,"  and  he  took 
both  her  hands  in  his,  "shall  the  prophesy  of  the 


3S8  THE  RED  SWAN'S  NECK 

rivers  come  true?  You  know  they  ran  together 
to  the  sea.      Shall  the  rivers  typify  our  lives?" 

"How  can  I  tell,  you  precious  boy !  I  can  only 
hope,  can  you?" 

And  that  night  they  started  down  the  way  of 
the  rivers. 


